


A Song of Guns, Germs and Steel

by stannisthemannis1993



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23924683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stannisthemannis1993/pseuds/stannisthemannis1993
Summary: What if Westeros was mysteriously linked to the modern world, a short way into the start of the song of ice and fire?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

April 1st 2019  
It was just after 2am local time, when the apparition appeared.

At first, no one noticed. Many would later comment of course, on its exact placement. It ran almost precisely north-south, between a farmers field and the forested edge of a nearby national park. Whatever intelligence had placed it there however, remained aloof. 

Before dawn broke some four hours later, a few anomalies had been noted. Several radars around the great metropolis to the east reported an unusual and persistent blip. By any other measure it was huge, but on a weather or air traffic control screen it looked small. A few controllers observed it with confusion, perhaps mixed with a tinge of curiosity. Clouds weren’t solid, nor were they stationary. It didn’t look like an aircraft, which wouldn’t just hover there anyway. This looked like a new mountain had suddenly popped out of the ground. Most assumed it was an error. One wondered idly if someone had launched some sort of enormous weather balloon and they simply hadn’t been informed.

So as of dawn, no alarm had been raised. As the black gave way to a partly cloudy purple and red, the local farmer was up early, as he often was. The homestead was some way from the doorway – he owned 600 acres after all, with more than that number of sheep. He’d thought something was odd when he awoke. A strong breeze was blowing from the west that hadn’t been there the night before. He thought he heard the animals bleating as well, but it was hard to tell in the distance. Still, he felt only a slight tinge of unease as he walked across the yard, until he had emerged from behind the house.

He must have stood there for a full thirty seconds, open mouthed, attempting to comprehend the sight in front of him. He called for his wife to come outside. She asked him why. He told her to just come out. After a minute she did so, alerted by his tone of voice. Both of them stared up at the apparition. 

Within two minutes, the first call was made to the police. The farmer couldn’t quite bring himself to describe what he was seeing.

“Uh…there’s something on my property.”

“What is it sir?”

“Um…please just come. It’s a bit hard to explain. Just send someone.”

######

It was a fair drive from the nearest station. It took almost an hour for the first car to arrive. In that time however, other calls started coming in. At the dispatch center, there no was panic at first. Just a deepening sense of confusion. Some noted the date with irritation. What this all some massive prank? An triple-oh flash mob for April fools? The dispatchers valued their professionalism however.

“Can you describe what you’re seeing?” 

“Um…its really quite hard. It just looks…black.”

“Black?”

“Yes.”

“What shape is it?”

“It’s a circle, it looks like a perfect circle.”

“A black circle?”

“Yes.”

“Can you describe the size?”

“Um its…huge. I really don’t know. I think I’m a few K’s away and I can still see it. I can’t see the base. There’s fields in the way…trees…it must be huge.”

######

The constable had just arrived on duty when he got the call. It was a confusing one. A farmer had reported something unusual on his property. He couldn’t give a proper description. Maybe some sort of wild animal?

Dutifully, he had pulled out of the station, plugged the address into the GPS and headed south. He didn’t turn the sirens on. It was too early and the call did not sound too urgent. He accelerated up past 100 on the Bacchus March-Balliang Road. He was still 10km away when the road curved and he saw the apparition in the distance. He kept driving for a few more moments, not quite registering what he was seeing. He didn’t associate it with the call at first. This was no animal… 

He found himself pulling over. He half got out of the car, still holding the door. From this angle it wasn’t a circle, more like a slim arch of perfect blackness. He stared for a few more moments, then hopped back in the grabbed the radio.

“There’s something there” he reported, trying to marshal the right words.

“Can you describe it?” the dispatcher asked.

“Uhhh…it looks like something very big and black, like a sort of arch…I don’t know. I’m heading there now.”

“We’re receiving many calls now. Other units are inbound. Do you need the air wing?”

“Ah, yes I think…get them in the air”.

He turned on the sirens at this point.

The apparition grew and grew on his right. Five minutes later he’d turned down a local road and he was facing it head-on. A small part of him wondered if he was heading in the smartest direction. Some deep instinct was telling him that this was something profoundly strange, something above his paygrade, that he should immediately turn around and drive as fast as the marked BMW could take him, his job be damned. 

But no, he was a member of Victoria Police. It was only his second year. This was his job and he was going to do it. He’d got the call. Maybe he was just too dumb and unimaginative to consider otherwise? He kept driving.

Ahead of him was what seemed like an endless gaping maw, looming above the world. The sun had risen someway behind him now. The sky above was mostly a clear blue. It contrasted fiercely with the pitch black in front of him. It was truly huge. How high? He couldn’t clearly see the base yet. Trees and the slightly rolling landscape blocked the view. He thought of the skyscrapers in the city. It looked much taller than any of them. 

At the next intersection, the GPS told him, was the farm he had been called to. Only then did it fully click. No wonder the call hadn’t included a description. He pulled into the driveway.

The farmer was there, standing next to his ute, holding an ancient hunting rifle. The rear was already half-filled with bags. His wife emerged, carrying more. The farmer approached as the constable pulled up beside the house. He struggled to find the right words as he opened the car door. He felt the sudden breeze at this point.

“Any idea what the hell that is?” the farmer asked gesturing at the vast black circle at the rear of his property.

The constable just shook his head. His radio was chirping again. The police chopper was ten minutes away. 

“Have you walked any closer?” he asked the farmer.

“No, my wife’s packing the car. Figure she should get somewhere else.”

“You’re staying here?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Lets go have a look then” the constable said with more confidence then he felt. The farmer nodded. The two of them walked past the house, through the scattered sheds and a final line of trees. The constable idly felt the pistol on his hip. The radio was on his other one, chattering constantly. He heard more sirens in the distance. He picked it up as the viewed cleared.

“Morgan here. I’m approaching the uh…object”. 

“Can you identify it? What are you seeing?”

“Uhhh, still the same appearance. It’s a vast black circle, looks to be…completely two-dimensional. Its not a sphere, just a circle…not sure what the other side looks like. Uh…to be honest…this looks like something out of the Twilight Zone really…uh…Like a science fiction film. I don’t think this is uh…anything ordinary”.

“How big is it?”

“Its huge…I think I’m still about a kilometer from it. It might be a K across.”

They walked through knee-high grass. Sheep were bleating in the distance. The wind was blowing stronger. 

“What’s the ETA on the air wing?”

“Should be five minutes.”

“There’s a bit of wind here uh…seems to be coming from the object. Are they aware of that?”

“Wind?”

“Yeah there’s a some pretty strong gusts blowing from it…not sure why…Maybe its some sort of uh….doorway?”

“A doorway?”

“Yeah I’m just speculating here but like…a portal to…somewhere? Does that sound crazy?”

The constable knew this was a conversation that would have seemed insane even an hour earlier. He was not exactly a man of distinction, but already he was dimly aware that the world had just changed. He was also thinking of the various sci-fi movies he’d seen at some point. He wondered what else to say.

“There’s something in it” the farmer said, pausing. They were maybe half a K from the basis of the apparition. It was hard to gauge the distance.

“What?” he asked, scanning the ground near the base of the object. He still couldn’t quite see where the landscape ended and it began.

“Up, look!” the farmer said, pointing. The constable’s gaze followed.

At the upper reaches of the object he thought he saw something. It was hard to make out, contrasting with the bright blue around it. He saw what looked like little points of light. 

He struggled for an explanation. Then it dawned on him.

They were stars. A starry night sky. It was day here, but night wherever this doorway led.

The constable kept walking. He wasn’t sure what else to do with this revelation. Looking back down, he noticed the inky blackness of the circle was no longer complete. The field around him was brown, brightly lit in the morning light, though the scattered sheep were still casting long shadows. A few hundred meters away was the base of the arch. Beyond it the ground changed. It looked…wilder. Bushes and wild grass grew, taller than the farmer’s field. There were other objects in the distance.

Trees…he realized. He couldn’t see too far onto the other side. There was a broad swathe of ground where the sun hit it. The doorway faced east, and the rising sun was only at a modest angle to it. What he saw looked like wild country. Only bushes, trees, rocks and grass, gradually undulating away from them. 

He reported all this into his radio as they kept walking, the farmer half a pace behind him. Finally, they stood only meters from the apparent edge. The arch loomed over them, massive and unmoving. The mysterious landscape beyond gave away little. He looked up, cupping his hand around his eyes. He could see the stars. 

Now they were close, he noticed something else as well. There was another source of light on the other side, off to his left. He looked for it and froze at once. He clutched tightly to the radio. The conclusion was unmistakable now.

“Ah…wherever this thing leads, I don’t think its anywhere on Earth.”

“Why? What do you see?” the controller asked.

“The sky on the other side…there’s a moon in it.”

“Yes?”

“It ain’t ours.”

That wasn’t all. It was hard to tell from this angle but craning his head to look south the constable noticed something else. There was a pinkish tinge on the horizon. 

Whatever world this was, dawn would soon be breaking.


	2. Chapter 2

For the media it was the biggest day in…well, the history of media.

The police helicopter arrived over the field a few minutes later. It relayed its own findings.

Yes, a giant black circle had just appeared, about 60km west of Melbourne, Australia.

What was there already? A sheep paddock, naturally.

Was there anything in it? Why yes, the landscape of what appeared to be an entirely different world.

When had it appeared? Sometime last night.

What was it doing there? Who had made it? Or conjured it into being? Nobody knew.

Aliens? God? NASA? North Korea? The Church of Scientology?

The pilot asked for orders. Should he attempt to fly through the…um…portal?

No, the commander said. Just hover there until we can figure out our next move.

Other cars arrived, at first bringing police, but soon other onlookers – locals, the media, the government. Within an hour of the first police arrival one of the news networks had directed a traffic chopper to the area. Images were beamed live across the world. Within hours, a billion people knew.

Once he had accepted the situation as something other than a massive April fools joke, the Prime Minister had started issuing orders. ADF units were alerted. Mass text messages were sent out and phone calls made. Within hours men and women were arriving at depots, putting on uniforms and gathering weapons.

The police made the initial perimeter. With calm if bewildered professionalism more and more senior individuals arrived. Command of the scene changed half a dozen times that morning until the Chief Commissioner himself drove from Melbourne to look upon the scene personally. It was quickly agreed upon to set up a perimeter, with everyone within a 5km radius of the apparition to be evacuated. By noon some five hundred police had arrived and roadblocks had been set up to keep back the growing trickle of onlookers. Some local residents protested at the sudden eviction, but most were stunned into cooperation.

A large shed just behind the local farmer's homestead was quickly requisitioned as a command post. A flurry of calls were made. By the early afternoon three or four helicopters were now hovering overhead at any given moment, a mix of the emergency services and the media.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the 'portal' – for that was now quite obviously what it was, the sun had risen. The sky beyond was blue, with its own smattering of clouds. The wind gusting out of it had paused as the temperature and pressure on both sides seemed to stabilize. So far nobody had gone through it. Nobody had stepped over the line where yellow fields gave way to rocky green wilderness.

By the afternoon the military had started to arrive. A convoy of ASLAV armored fighting vehicles hastily gathered from their depot at Puckapunyal. No tanks were present – the ADF didn't have many to begin with and no plans to scramble them this quickly. A squadron of helicopters, Eurocopter Tigers and the older Black Hawks, arrived to patrol overhead. A quick arrangement was struck. Victoria Police would hold the outer perimeter, handling traffic and warding off curious onlookers.

The army had the portal itself.

'Whatever the hell that thing is – your job is to just stop anything nasty from coming through' as one local commander put it.

As the afternoon wore on the perimeter started to stiffen. It was a haphazard mobilization. Most of Australia's major military bases were in the north of the continent, the closer to potential threats in Asia. They were no more prepared for this then the Aztecs for the arrival of Cortez and his conquistadors. Nonetheless, units were hastily mobilized. Convoys of armored vehicles drove down highways in rarely seen numbers. Others went by train or air.

By dusk, close to a thousand armed men and women had arrived and begun to set up camp. The first helicopters had rotated out to be replaced by a fresh squadron. Police were relieved one roadblock at a time. Catering arrangements were made. Local officials up to and including the Premier of Victoria had dropped whatever they were doing and driven by to witness the apparition for themselves. Many offered encouraging words to the local troops. Behind closed doors important phone calls were made. The Prime Minister rang up the US President. The ANZUS Treaty was mentioned. US commanders began drawing up plans to reinforce their antipodal allies.

And through the portal, nothing moved.

Or not quite nothing – several times that day onlookers had spotted birds in the sky, but nothing flew through the portal itself. Trees and grass were tugged at by the wind. Clouds moved overhead, sunshine, from whatever star it was, glinted off rocks, but ultimately they were greeted by nothing other than a sunny afternoon.

As night fell in Australia, key decisions had yet to be made. Setting up a perimeter was the obvious first step, but what next? Should they send something (or someone) through this doorway to what was apparently another world? And where had it come from anyway? Aliens? An act of God? The talk show hosts had a field day. Social media was buzzing.

The sun set. Searchlights were hastily erected, pointing at the huge disk. On the other world dusk came too, about an hour after our own. The rotation periods seemed to be as similar as the temperature, climate and flora and fauna. Curious.

The first night was still tense. Hundreds of soldiers got little sleep. The barrels of several hundred weapons, up to and including the 25mm chain-driven autocannon of a Bushmaster, pointed up at the big black circle. They seemed rather inadequate. They hadn't had time to bring up any heavy artillery yet. A minimum of three choppers hovered overhead, rotating every couple of hours and adding their bright searchlights to those being erected on the ground. A few hundred miles away, a squadron of F/A-18 Super Hornets sat on the runway. Their pilots nearby and ready to get in the air inside of five minutes.

Still, nobody panicked. No shots were accidently fired. Discipline held strong. Despite everything, the Brigadier in charge felt a twinge of satisfaction. Rushed together in a single day, faced with the totally unknown and inexplicable, his force was holding up well so far.

Sometime during the night a decision was made. They would have to investigate what was on the other side. But why bother sending people? It was 2019. Send a drone.

An RQ-7 Shadow was quickly located – at its base in Queensland. In the early hours of the morning it (along with its trailer and operating crew) was loaded on board a C-130J Super Hercules and flown to Avalon Airport. With impressive haste, it was driven to the portal and arrived there just after 8am – a little over 24hrs since the first phone call to the police. Two hours later, on the Prime Minister's word and with a global audience somewhere over a billion, the drone took off its 12 meter ramp and soared into the morning sky. Thirty seconds later it flew through the middle of the massive disk and over the wild landscape beyond.

The global audience would have to be a little patient. The images sent back by the drone could not be broadcast live. They went to a transmitter set up right in front of the portal. A single screen on the operator's desk showed the view beyond. At least fifty people crowded into the shearer's shed behind him, craning to get a look.

At first the view changed little. A rocky hillside, clusters of trees. The camera was angled down a way, with a broad field of view. A few minutes in, flying over smoother ground the operator gave a start.

"Uh…that's a road" he said calmly, as other strained to see.

He had kept the drone fairly low, no more than 2,000 feet up. Beneath them was a gently weaving brown line. It was quite obviously artificial, running almost perpendicular to their flightpath. The operator glanced at the Brigadier.

"North or South sir?" he asked.

"Lets try south."

The drone turned, following the road. Headed to alien Rome.

The view changed quite quickly after that. They left the hills behind. There were fewer trees, and those they saw were often found in anomalously straight lines. After that came fields of what were obviously crops.

"Is that wheat?" someone asked. It certainly looked like it.

They lost it a bit when they found the village.

It was slightly off the main road. The drone swerved to take a closer look. There were buildings, quite simple in construction. Little squarish wooden shacks. Surrounding fields were dotted with creatures, also quite recognizable. There were little white shapes that looked quite suspiciously like sheep, little pink pigs and a pen of what seemed to be chickens. Flying low, the drone soon saw the occupants. It was the last thing they had ever expected.

They were people.

"How?" was the first question on everyone's lips. If nothing else, the last 24hrs had built up quite a sense of anticipation. A portal to another world, one that might be full of little green men? That had been the obvious theory. Now the quandaries were coming quickly.

But where had these people come from? Were they truly humans? Had they evolved there, separately? Had their ancestors been taken from Earth and transported there at some point? Perhaps by another giant portal with its aloof controllers? What if the same thing was true here? What if our species hadn't evolved on Earth at all? But what about all the fossils?

Ignoring the broader existential crisis and leaving those questions to someone better qualified, the operator kept the drone circling the village in smooth circles. It was close to local noon. They counted maybe fifty people. Some were out in the fields, others clustered in around the buildings. It wasn't long before someone spotted them. A few of the 'people' below started to stare and point.

"Shall I move on sir?"

"What's your fuel?"

"We're good for another 3 hours sir, we've only moved 10 klicks from the…uh…start point."

"Keep following the road."

The operator did so. They resumed flying over the fields. The wheat continued, interrupted by pastureland dotted mainly with sheep. They flew over a few more villages, quite similar to the first. After more than an hour, the operator tilted the camera up a little and there were gasps behind him. On the horizon was a thick strip of blue – a vast expanse of water, what could easily have been an entire ocean. It seemed they were nearing the coast.

They flew into a bank of low clouds, one of many they had encountered on their flight. With fuel ticking closer to the 50% mark the operator was about to order the drone back when they broke through. The gasps were even more audible this time.

Ahead of them, near the entrance of a wide river, there was a city. It was hard to make out detail at this distance.

What stood out was a red castle on a hill.


	3. Chapter 3

"I hope I have helped in some small way to put your mind at ease" Grand Maester Pycelle said, slowly pushing himself up from his chair and escorting Ned to the door. "If there is any other service I might perform, you need only ask."

"One thing," Ned told him. "I should be curious to examine the book that you lent Jon the day before he fell ill."

"I fear you would find it of little interest," Pycelle said. "It was a ponderous tome by Grand Maester Malleon on the lineages of the great houses."

"Still, I should like to see it."

Pycelle nodded, he was about to open the door when there was the sound of rapid footfalls from the other side. Someone banged on it loudly.

"Lord Stark, are you in there?"

Eddard opened the door quickly. Jory Cassel, the head of his household guard, was puffing slightly with the effort of taking the stairs.

"What is it Jory?"

"My Lord…" Jory hesitated. Eddard did not remember ever seeing the man so agitated. "Apologies milord. It is back! There is some creature flying over the city."

"What creature?" he asked, bewildered. He glanced at Pycelle, who looked just as surprised.

"I don't know my lord. Please come quickly."

Eddard followed Jory down the steps, the Grand Maester shuffling slowly after them. Within a minute they were walking out into the courtyard below.

"This way milord" Jory said, half running across the dirt surface and up a flight of nearby steps. A minute more and they were atop the walls that encircled the Red Keep. A crowd of men and women had gathered. Stark and Lannister guards, Gold Cloaks or servants of the Red Keep, it made no difference. Jory pointed and Ned Stark turned his gaze upwards, to somewhere north by east.

It was a sight so queer the Lord Hand could only stare, open mouthed. Far above, and so far off it must have been way out over the waters of Blackwater Bay, was what could only be taken for a huge white bird. It moved with an unearthly precision, soaring almost lazily over the bay. Its wings were rigid and unmoving. Eddard was having difficulty gauging the distance. He could have mistaken it for some great falcon or eagle but…the scale was all wrong. His eyes flicked downwards. He could see ships in the bay below. He searched for a moment. That was all it took so find the creature's shadow.

Gods be good.

The dark shape moved across the bay with terrifying speed. It passed between a number of fishing boats, dwarfing any of them. His eyes flicked back up. He noticed that it was turning, as if it was making its way up the Blackwater Rush itself. Eddard could only stare with the growing crowd as it came closer. He might have thought to run, but honestly he could only stand rooted to the spot.

At this point he noticed something else. A sound that was equally queer. It was a low buzzing, droning noise, like the largest beehive in the world heard from across some field. In moments however the low drone had turned into a mighty roar as the apparition flew overhead. It couldn't have missed them by more than a thousand feet. Driven by some primitive instinct, many people ducked as it headed straight up the Blackwater.

"By the seven…" a voice croaked nearby. Pycelle had finally made his way up the flight of steps, only to nearly fall as the thing flew overhead. Two of the Gold Cloaks grabbed him to keep him on his feet. Around them people were screaming. Not all of them were women.

"Milord!" Jory shouted. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, though it was hard to give a logical reason why. "Is it…is it a dragon?"

Eddard found a moment to find his voice. Whoever heard of a white dragon?

"No Jory. It is not" he said, sounding more confident then he felt.

"But then what is it milord?"

"I'm afraid I cannot say."

He turned to face Pycelle, who was brushing aside the Gold Cloaks.

"Are you alright grandmaester?" he asked.

"Yes my lord" he said, though he sounded strained.

"Do you know what we just saw?"

"I'm afraid I can offer you no service there, my lord. But…I do not think it is a dragon, either."

There was still panic around them. Some were running. Others were still rooted to the spot, simply staring as the big white shape receded up the river. Already it must have flown well past the city. As the shock started to wear off, Eddard felt a stab of worry. He turned to his captain.

"Jory, where are my daughters?"

"Arya should be with her dancing master milord. Sansa with Septa Mordane."

"Gather the guards. Get my daughters in the Tower of the Hand. I want everyone there."

"Yes milord."

"I must find the king."

With one last glance at the receding shape, now a mere speck in the distance, Eddard hurried back down the steps. He thought briefly of his wife, but with an effort of will dismissed the thought. She had left the capital yesterday. If there was danger here, she was heading safely away from it. Gods be good.

######

Robert was in his chambers, hiding from the heat of the day and totally oblivious to the apparition that had shaken his city minutes earlier. Ser Jaime had been slightly reluctant to permit the Lord Hand entry to the King's chambers.

"Perhaps you should wait a few minutes my lord" he said drily.

"This cannot wait. The city could be in danger" the Hand insisted, forcing open the door himself.

The King rose from his bed with a start, shouting in annoyance at the intrusion. Two different whores stopped and tried to cover themselves. Eddard ignored them as he strode into the room.

"Seven hells Ned. What is the matter?" the King roared.

"You grace, something is very wrong. The city could be in danger."

He started to explain but there was a scuffle at the door behind him. Ser Jaime was stopping somebody else from entering the room.

"Milord!" came Jory's voice. "Its coming back milord!...Unhand me sir!"

Eddard turned back to the king.

"Please get dressed your grace. We should go to the battlements."

They had barely started to move when Eddard heard the noise again. The most unsettling buzzing sound. He half ran to the nearby window. He opened the shutters but could not see anything from this angle.

He turned around. The whores had fled the room but the king was still in a state of undress. He looked about to argue further.

The change in tone was as immediate as the last time. One moment the noise was distant. The next the very air seemed to be shaking.

"It's a dragon milord! It has to be. A white dragon!"

"Jory do not lose you heard. It is no dragon!"

"Dragons?" roared the king, looking in equal parts bewildered and furious. At least he started to dress himself.

A few minutes later and they had ascended three flights of stairs. They came out onto the roof of Maegor's Holdfast, right at the center of the Red Keep. From here they had a view of the entire city and the bay beyond. The shape had receded into the distance again, a small white speck heading back along the coast, roughly to the north.

Robert looked after it in consternation.

"Can someone explain to their king what in seven hells is happening!" he demanded.

######

It was the first small council meeting the king had attended in a long time. Even the Queen had turned up, with her children in tow. Everyone was demanding answers. Confusion reigned, no less for those who had actually seen the apparition.

"If it's a dragon we should hunt it down and kill it!" Prince Joffrey had proclaimed excitedly, until the King had bid him be quiet.

"Who actually saw the beast?" the King demanded a while. Varys and Littlefinger were silent, as were Ser Barristan and Lord Renly. The Grand Maester leaned forward.

"I certainly saw something your grace, though I cannot say it was a dragon…"

"But you did see itself yourself your grace" Eddard interjected.

"I saw…something in the distance" the King suddenly seemed doubtful, as if starting to wonder if he had imagined the whole thing.

"But you heard it your Grace. The whole city did!" Eddard proclaimed.

"That is certainly true your Grace" Pycelle added. "My eyes may be poorer in my old age, but I have never heard such a din."

"And I want to be clear" Eddard added. "I did see it myself. It was not a dragon."

"Then what was it, Lord Stark?"

It was the Queen who had spoken, her tone icy. She had taken a vacant seat at the far end of the council table. Tommen was on her knee. Myrcella sat beside her, while Joff stood apart, shadowing his father.

"That…I cannot say your grace. It almost…"

He hesitated to say what came next.

"It almost seemed like it wasn't a creature at all. Like it was some sort of contraption."

There was a moment's stunned silence.

"A flying contraption?" Renly said, in a tone of amusement, as if the whole thing was some interesting jape. "What a marvelous concept. Do you have those in the North, Lord Stark?"

Eddard ignored him. He turned to Varys and Littlefinger, the only two present with descent from Essos.

"Have you ever heard of such a thing, my lords?"

The spymaster and master of coin shared a glance. Both looked uneasy. It struck Edward that he had never felt such tension in the room. Varys spoke first.

"I'm afraid not my lord. My little birds whisper of many things…but I have heard no word of dragons or…flying machines."

"I think we can assume no one in Westeros could make such a thing" Littlefinger added. "If it is something from Essos, we can make enquires."

"Perhaps they have flown from beyond the Jade Sea?" Renly mused. "I would most like to meet a flying man!"

Before anything further could be said, the door at the end of the hall banged open. The Kingsguard present turned to survey the intruder, but Eddard recognized him instantly as Janos Slynt, commander of the city watch. He hurried to the end of the table.

"You grace, my lords" he said with a quick bow. "Riders come from north of the city, they report…"

He hesitated a moment, as if afraid the reaction his next words would cause.

"…there is some queer apparition, north of the city, east of the Rosby road."

"Is it the dragon?" Joffrey asked, his whole face lighting up in excitement.

Janos Slynt seemed confused.

"Dragon, your grace?"

"What is it they saw, commander?" Eddard asked quickly, before the conversation could spiral back out of control.

"Yes…my lord hand. They report…some sort of great arch, like a great gate."

"A great gate?"

"Yes, uh…I am not sure what to make of it, to tell it true."

"Dragons? Flying machines? Great gates?" It was Renly again, still smiling. "What other mysteries will this day bring?"

"Commander, why do you waste the council's time with these frivolous reports?" asked the Queen, in the same tone as earlier.

Janos Slynt's face expressed shock. His face bulged up in consternation.

"But your grace, they are outside. Feel free to question them yourself!"

He turned and waved a hand. Two more goldcloaks entered, each escorting a man. They knelt before the council table.

Despite the day's events Lord Eddard made note of how odd a pair they were. One looked to be near sixty with a pointed, narrow face and bony fingers. He wore rusted mail and a hood of patched roughspun mantle with a battered blade on his hip. His companion might have been ten years younger, with a big belly that strained at the laces of his potted doeskin jerkin. His chin was covered by a shaggy, untrimmed beard the colour of old gold.

"Your grace, my lords" the older one said bowing so low he almost kissed the floor. "I am Ser Illifer the Penniless, your humble servant. This is my companion, Ser Creighton Longbough, a holy man. We rode hard to get here my lords. We wish to humbly report what we saw yesterday on the Rosby road."

"What is it? What did you see?" demanded the King.

"The commander says it true your grace. While riding south from Rosby, seeking honest employment with any traveller requiring an escort, we saw an apparition, most queer, to the east of the road. It was a huge arch, taller than anything I've ever seen your grace! It was there in the hills, a wild and rocky place, not far from the shores of Blackwater Bay."

"An arch?" Lord Eddard found himself asking. "Made of stone?"

"I do not know my lord. I do not know where it came from, or where it leads, only that there were men coming forth from inside it."

Eyes widened around the council table. An arch by the bay? Was it some sort of ship? Was this an invasion they were being told of?

"What men?" the King asked sharply.

"Apologies your grace. I do not know that either, only that they were dressed in green. I spoke with them briefly."

"You spoke with them?"

"Certainly my lord. They were polite and there was no violence. I introduced myself, as did my companion here."

"Ser Illifer tells it true, my lords" the man named Ser Creighton spoke up. "We spoke with them for a good while. They seemed most curious. They asked what the land was called, and I told it true, that they were in Westeros, in the reign of Good King Robert. They asked about you your grace."

"What did you tell them?"

"We told it true your grace, of course. That you were a just and noble ruler, with your seat here, in King's Landing. They asked about the city your grace, on whether you lived here. We told them, yes ser, in the Red Keep at King's Landing, that is where King Robert has his seat."

"Did they say they were coming here?" Eddard asked, feeling more and more alarmed with every word of the hedge knights' report.

"I do not believe so your grace, they remained back at the arch. They only had of us a simple request."

"Yes?"'

"That we should ride here with all due haste and humbly inform your grace that they request an audience."

The council chamber was silent for a few moments more as those assembled absorbed this news.

"Did you see the dragon?" Joffrey asked finally, unable to drop the subject.

"Dragon, my lord?" Ser Illifer asked. "I do not know about a dragon. Although they had…apologies again your grace, I do not know quite how to say…they had a great white eagle with them. Never seen one a tenth as large. Flew right back over our heads as we rode away."


	4. Chapter 4

April 4th 2019

Three days since the appearance of the portal and the ring of steel around it was solidifying.

The 1st Armored regiment had been redeployed from Adelaide, its M1A1 Abrams tanks coming by rail overnight. More than forty were now arranged in a loose ring around the portal, between one and two kilometers from its base. The Royal Australian Artillery had also arrived to the party, with three batteries of M777 155m howitzers now positioned further back towards the highway, zeroed in on what was now the world's most famous sheep paddock.

A battalion of US Marines had also turned up, flown from Darwin at the urging of the President and with no more than mild objections by the Australian PM. Nearby Avalon Airport, underutilized as a commercial hub, had suddenly found itself host to several dozen fighter jets as both RAAF and USAF squadrons were flown in.

Less visible, and known only to a few, was the Ohio-class Strategic Missile Sub that had been ordered south from its usual patrol route in the western Pacific. Within a few days it would be parked in the Tasman Sea off the continent's east coast. The coordinates of the portal had already been locked in. At a word from the President, the Boomer could fire up to twenty Trident II ballistic missiles, equipped with over a hundred nuclear warheads, right on top of it. An explosive force equivalent to 100 megatons of TNT.

This was a last resort of course, in case the legions of hell themselves were marching out of the portal and they needed to vaporize everything within a radius of several miles. Melbourne was far enough away that it should escape the worst of the damage, though anyone living in the western suburbs might lose their windows. Radiation was another matter. Nobody quite knew what would happen to the portal itself of course.

Including the police, the Major General now in charge of the perimeter (or 'Task Force Vigilant Watch') had some 5,000 armed troops under his command. With tank, artillery and air support at his beck and call, and the nuclear umbrella in place, he felt confident enough to make a move.

The next day, the first patrol through the portal was mounted.

The scientific team was hastily assembled – several dozen individuals with the task of gathering up local specimens of flora and fauna. A few geologists were to pick up interesting looking rocks. Others would set up a weather station to record wind and rainfall on a nearby hilltop. A few were to set up a couple of telescopes and other instruments, automated to track the night sky when the team had departed.

Escorting them was the two hundred strong 2nd company of the 1st Commando Regiment. They entered the portal at 8am and fanned out in front of it, maintaining strict visual range at all times. An hour later the science team came in behind them. They set about their tasks, most of the day was uneventful, until slightly after 2pm when the radio crackled to life.

"Contact, 10 o'clock, 1000 metres."

"Roger, what do you see?"

There was a slight pause.

"Two men on horses…they're moving slowly up to the portal."

"Standby science team."

A kilometer beyond the portal, in a clump of trees slightly down the hillside, the commandos waited silently. They were well concealed in the thick brush. This new world did not lack for foliage. It hadn't even seemed prudent to change the DPCUs they were wearing. The dark greens and browns blended in perfectly.

From here they couldn't quite see the dirt road the aerial surveillance had spotted up ahead, but they were aware of its direction. They spotted the intruders the moment they entered a clearing in the trees below. There was some back and forth radio chatter as they approached.

"What are they doing, over?"

"Just heading up the hill…I think they're coming for a look at the portal."

"See any weapons?"

"No firearms…it looks like swords is all."

"Roger that. Science team, continue with mission. Keep us informed, out."

The two horsemen took their time, picking their way carefully over the scrub and rocks. They took the better part of an hour to close with the commandos' position. Finally, when they were within a hundred meters, the lieutenant in charge did the simple thing. He stood up. Around him two dozen other commandos did the same.

The horsemen stopped. They stared. The lieutenant noticed just how scrawny and underfed their horses looked. The men themselves looked rather poor too, at least past middle age and wearing garments that looked like they hadn't seen the inside of a washing machine anytime this decade. There was a collective silence for a few moments. One of the horses whinnied, as if only just spotting the men around it.

The lieutenant gave a gentle wave. There was nothing for it.

"Hello there" he offered by way of a greeting.

After a few moments, the older of the two men replied.

"How do you do good ser. How can we help you?"

It was three days before the hedge knights returned, but this time they were part of a larger procession.

No one else had approached the portal in that time. For their part, no one from Earth had ventured beyond visible range of its base on foot. The aerial patrols had continued, first by drone and then, slightly bolder, an RAAF P-8A Poseidon maritime patrol craft. This had flown up and down the coast for a few hundred kilometers, even overflying the city by the river to the south-west. They figured there was not much point in hiding any longer. The portal was a vast disk a full kilometer across, as obvious here as it was on Earth. Absent modern communications and transport word would be slower to spread, but spread it would. Better to be glimpsed now, here and there in small, easily digestible pieces, then to turn up in full force and start a panic with what seemed to be the medieval locals.

UAVs now hovered constantly over the road at the base of the hills. It was slightly busy with traffic. On any given day a few score people might march down it, many on horseback or via carts, often loaded with grain or other produce. They saw a shepherd marshalling his flock down the road, but that was the liveliest party they saw.

The royal procession was different.

They saw it miles off – a long, slow snake of men, horses and the odd carriage. They had spotted them the day before of course, when the P-8A made another run over the city. They had camped the night before a dozen miles from the portal and resumed the march after dawn. It was noon before they approached. They paused for a while by the roadside, still a good 5km away from the portal's base. There a number stayed, visibly pitching tents and setting up camp, while others on horseback began making their way up the wooded slopes.

More hours past, and it was mid-afternoon before the delegation truly arrived. The representatives from Earth waited patiently, standing on their side of the portal, the wind gusting slightly. They had withdrawn the commandos the day before. After some debate, it had been decided to make a show of meeting on equal ground. The small army that had assembled in a ring around the portal however, remained.

It seemed over a hundred men had made the climb on the Westerosi side of things, all mounted. It was easy to spot the two hedge knights from earlier. They looked rather shabby next to this new retinue, nearly all of whom were wearing rather elaborate armor over their undergarments. Most wore what looked like woolen cloaks, dyed a deep yellow, draped over black armor, boots and gloves. Others wore red or plainer browns and greys. A number carried banners on long wooden poles. The most prominent were yellow, adorned with an animal that looked like some sort of deer, pitch black with very prominent horns. Above its shoulders it wore a golden crown.

When they were just about within hailing distance, the men formed up again. Some dismounted from their hoses. Others stood back, forming a loose crescent in front of the portal. The helmets most of them wore made it hard to make out their expressions. For a moment no one spoke.

"So are you the flying men?" a voice finally asked.

The speaker was near the middle of the delegation, a tall man with elaborate green and gold armor. His face was handsome, green eyes below a mop of thick, black hair. Several others were holding banners behind him. He seemed to be the leader.

Thirty feet away, on the portal's other side, the representative from Earth stepped forward.

"Hello, I welcome you on behalf of my government. My name is Peter Dutton."

######

The man who had spoken was also tall and well-built, though balding and with somewhat beady little eyes. He looked about fifty. Renly's confusion deepened a touch. The hedge knights had spoken of green men, who were flying. Instead he was confronting a line of men dressed in black and merely standing.

Nonetheless, the arch was real enough. It loomed over everything. A vast shape, forming what seemed to be a perfect circle only slightly buried in the hill. His mind grasped for some way to explain the impossible phenomenon. Who could craft such a mighty structure? For what purpose? It was like the wedding band of some impossible giantess that had fallen from heaven and gotten stuck in the mud.

No, not a giantess, he mused. That idea wasn't strong enough. If anyone had dropped this ring it must have been a goddess, perhaps the maiden herself?

The Maiden's Ring…now that had a nice, well, ring to it…

As they had trotted up the hillside he had glimpsed what lay inside it. The sky beyond looked different, another very queer sign. In the Crownlands it had been another warm sunny day, so lacking in shade he would wish for a bit of cloud. Beyond, in whatever world lay beyond the ring, the sky looked overcast, an unbroken wall of grey. Was it always so dreary, he wondered? Did they never get to see the sun?

He saw little else until they rounded the last copse of trees. The wooded hillside obscured the view, and he had to look down often to maneuver his horse around rocks and roots that lay thick on the ground. As they emerged, he finally saw the men standing on the other side. In the middle there was a small group, lined up neatly, and wearing garments of a quite uniform black. The only splash of color was found about their necks, where they wore what looked like small silk scarfs of red or blue. He wondered what they signified. House allegiance? A sign of rank?

Slightly further back another rank of men were standing. These were dressed differently. Ah, now there were the green men! Their garments were more elaborate, a mix of pale greens and drab browns. It almost looked like an attempt to blend into a forest background. What, pray, were they trying to hide from? Renly would have puzzled on this further, but his eyes were drawn to the banner one of the green men held.

It was darkish blue, like the color of the sea. In one corner was a complex sort of cross, colored red and white. Scattered about the rest were stars, whose meaning he could not immediately fathom. It was the only banner he saw.

He turned back to the man who had spoken. He saw no obvious sign of aristocratic rank, or distinction from his peers, but he looked well-groomed and well-dressed. Clearly no peasant.

"Hello my lord. I am Renly Baratheon, the King's brother. He sent me to investigate this…ring" he said, waving a hand airily, as if he had seen such a phenomenon many a time. "Are you the one who sent the white dragon?"

It took the man a moment to respond.

"We sent a number of aircraft to investigate what lay on the other side. That must have been what you saw. We apologize if there was any…confusion or alarm. We were simply cautious as to what lay beyond."

"Cautious?" Renly said, confused. He looked back up at the colossal ring. "Why did you conjure such a thing, if you did not know where it would lead?"

Peter Dutton bowed his head slightly. "I can see there is some confusion…my lord Baratheon. We sent the aircraft to see what lay beyond, but we did not create the portal itself. To be honest, we do not know where it came from or how it got here. If you have any knowledge of these things, we would most appreciate it."

Renly frowned. His mind was racing at this new information. So these men could fly, but they had not made the ring itself? Perhaps it was the Maiden after all? Had she blessed these two realms with a meeting? Was this how the Andals had first crossed to Westeros, thousands of years ago? What was the cause of this mystery? With every sentence spoken it only seemed to be deepening.

"I'm afraid I do not. I have not seen or heard of such a thing before" Renly admitted. "It appears most vexing…I am told you requested an audience with the king" he gestured at the hedge knights. Ser Illifer sat rigidly on his new horse, freshly gifted for this meeting, ten feet to his left. "That is what these men said."

"Yes, that is correct. When we found out there were people on the other side…we were most surprised of course. We do not know how such a thing is possible. An entirely different world, but the same people? Much the same plants and animals? We wish to understand what is happening here. It would be good to meet with your king and understand more about your land."

Renly peered through the ring. It was completely transparent in front of him. When he looked at the ground, it was only marked by the sudden change in vegetation in front of him. Rocky wilds gave way to a smooth field with long grass.

"I am most curious about your land as well, my lord. Could you extend us the same courtesy?"

"Of course."

"King Robert is two days ride from here. In the capital of King's Landing. Where, may I ask, is your king?"

The lord looked somewhat hesitant, as if the answer was not a simple one.

"We understand lords and kings…such things were once common in our world. We do have a queen actually, her name is Elizabeth the Second, but she is on the far side of the world."

"I see."

"And she is very elderly besides."

"She has been granted a long life? I wish her many more years of good health."

"Thank you, my lord. I will pass that on."

"Who then, should I meet?"

Peter Dutton nodded.

"I serve Mister Scott Morrison. He is the Prime Minister of Australia – that is our land. I myself am a minister, one of twenty-three, who serve the people of Australia. I could arrange an audience with him."

Renly nodded. Most curious. A land ruled by maesters, did he say? What, pray, had happened to the lords?

"Very well, I will meet with this…Scott Morrison."

"Very good."

"I am curious about one more thing though."

"What is that?"

"You say your queen is on the…far side of the world. What does that mean? Where in the world are we now?"

Peter Dutton paused again.

"My lord…have you…your people, explored all of your world?"

Renly blinked in surprise.

"You have explored all of yours?"

"Yes, a long time ago. This land is called Westeros is it not?" Peter Dutton asked, glancing at the hedge knights who had made their introductions first.

"Yes, it is."

"Well, there is no Westeros on our world. We have discovered all our lands a long time ago. It appears, until now, our worlds were entirely separate, and now they have been linked."

Renly took another moment to absorb this. He looked up through the ring, at the alien landscape beyond the men. This next realization hit the young lord like a gut punch.

He was not in Planetos anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

April 8th 2019

Terms for the sending of an embassy were agreed upon, and before long the Westerosi retinue returned down the hill to their camp, as the delegation from Earth made preparations. The next day, a line of helicopters approached the portal, thick cables attached to their undersides.

The terrain immediately ahead of the portal was judged too rough for vehicles. It was hard enough for men on foot or horseback. In time they could clear a road, but today they needed a faster method. They had gathered nine transport helicopters by this point, mostly the old Boeing-built Chinooks. Each one could lift the ten tons of a complete Bushmaster Protected Mobility Vehicle, able to transport ten men. They were essentially sturdy trucks with a machine gun emplacement on top. They were hardly tanks, but they would do.

The commando company would again be the escort. Twenty of the vehicles were picked up in small groups, spirited through the portal and ferried across the landscape on the other side to the nearby road. A number of civilian vehicles – cars and light trucks, went the same way, to carry the thirty-strong diplomatic team. The men (and a few women) of the expedition themselves hiked down the hill, meeting their vehicles there in front of the increasingly awed Westerosi.

By mid-morning they were organized and ready to set off. Lord Renly's retinue had struck their tents and were ready also. Peter Dutton went up to the Lord, wished him good morning, and invited him to join him in the back of his assigned Land Rover. Having just marveled at the appearance of more flying machines, the lord readily agreed, handing his horse over to a retainer.

"Those look different to the one we saw yesterday" he remarked, as they walked amid the assembled men and carriages.

"Yes, those are helicopters. They are a different type of flying machine. The others are airplanes. They are bigger and faster, but helicopters can take off and land in a very small area, very useful" Dutton explained patiently, with accompanying hand motions.

"Indeed…" said the lord slowly, attempting to hide his scarce comprehension. He gestured at the vehicles nearby.

"And what are these here? Are these metal carriages? I feel you must breed great horses to pull them."

The Australian Minister had to stop himself from laughing. He held it at a smile.

"Well actually my lord, they do not require horses."

"No? Then how, pray, do they move?"

"Well uh…"

Dutton exchanged some words with the driver. The young man pulled a small lever and there was a slight thud from the carriage. The Minister walked around and felt for the release. The bonnet came up smoothly. Renly looked in fascination at the structure underneath.

Concealed within was a complex mass of black and silver shapes. There were what looked to be boxes and pipes of varying sizes. Very little looked familiar to Renly. He struggled to think of any contraption he had ever seen that even approached such complexity. Parts reminded him of a blacksmith's bellows, others of some fantastic instrument strummed by some bard.

"So…this is an engine" Peter Dutton explained. "It uses fuel uh…a sort of oil, to move the wheels of the car. Here, I'll show you…"

He made some gesture at his driver. Renly jerked back as there was a roar of noise, like some great beast awakening from a slumber.

"Seven save us!" Lord Renly exclaimed. Behind him a few of his retainers had also cried in alarm. A few put hands on swords as if to unsheathe them, but Renly bid them to be calm. Nearby, a few of the green men seemed to tense, but the moment passed. He learned back in to inspect the now awakened 'engine'. Why, he thought, the Smith himself could not craft a finer machine!

"Apologies my lord, did that scare your men?" Peter Dutton asked, looking concerned.

Renly could only let out a sort of nervous laughter.

"No apologies necessary, my lord, though that was most unexpected. For a moment, I think, it seemed there was a lion in your carriage!"

There was some nervous laughter at the jape. Peter Dutton smiled again.

"I'm afraid many of our machines, flying or on the ground, are quite noisy."

Renly nodded. "I shall bear that in mind."

Other vehicles were starting up. Horses were whinnying at the unfamiliar sound, but their riders soon regained control. The gold cloaks and Baratheon guardsmen still seemed tense, as were the green men opposite. He sent word out to his captains to order calm, as did the men in black garments opposite. Renly wondered at this curious distinction. Were those in black the nobility, in green the peasantry?

With some further conversation they agreed on a rough order for the procession. A formation of Baratheon guardsmen were at the front. Most of the goldcloaks would bring up the rear. Renly accepted the invitation to ride in one of the Australian's carriages, though he had to remove his antlered helm to fit in the door.

The procession slowly set off; their pace set by the riders at the front. The Australian vehicles were clustered in the middle, with the black men and their small carriages in the middle of the middle. There were four people in the carriage. One sat in front of a wheel, resembling that on a sailing ship. Another sat in the front, a younger man who rapidly scribbled notes as they talked. Renly and Peter Dutton sat in the back. There was pleasant conversation.

"These are green lands" the Australian Minister commented, as they passed a village. Most of the locals seemed to remain hidden as the extraordinary procession passed by. Others could only gawk at the goldcloaks and guardsmen escorting the line of vehicles.

"Yes, the Crownlands are most fertile, and we have had a very long summer now."

"A long summer?"

"Yes."

"Longer than normal?"

"Well, what is normal?

"Does summer not come every year?"

The question surprised Renly. He started to explain. It took some time to establish the irregularity of the seasons here.

"Very interesting" Peter Dutton replied. "A ten year summer? And this may be followed by an equally long winter? It will snow here then?"

"Yes, it does not snow in Australia?"

They talked more of the weather and climate, before moving on to geography, then history. There were many points of interest.

"But how do they fly?" Renly had to ask more than once. Peter Dutton had to confess he did not entirely know. "I just know they work. They were invented more than a hundred years ago, by two brothers in America."

"America? So these are the flying men?"

"Well everyone has planes now. I'm sure we could sell some to you if you like, in good time."

Renly laughed. "Indeed? Then every boy in Westeros can live like a Targaryen!"

That took some further explaining.

"Dragons? Real dragons? Of the fire-breathing sort?" Peter Dutton asked, as if the idea was simply unthinkable. "So that was not just a…figure of speech?"

"Oh no. The dragon lords ruled Westeros for three hundred years. They united the seven kingdoms into one for the first time."

"Have you seen one of these dragons?"

Renly laughed again. "Why no, my lord. They went extinct hundreds of years ago."

"Then how do you know they were real? That they are not just stories?"

"Oh it is well known. There are dragon skulls in the red keep. I will show them to you when we arrive. No jape!"

That night they made camp at a convenient creek. The Australians arranged their vehicles into a sort of circle. Others pitched tents, also of green. Renly's men lit fires. The two sides watched each other cautiously over dinner. Further introductions were made. Renly introduced them to his 'dear friend…and a great knight' a handsome young man with curly brown hair who was 'Loras Tyrell of Highgarden'. He then made the acquaintance of a 'Mister Alexander Downer' – an elderly foreign maester, and an 'Arthur Culvahouse Junior' who represented a land called 'America'. He showed Renly his banner – an elaborate arrangement of red stripes and white stars.

"So you are one of the flying men?" Renly said with enthusiasm.

"Well we invented flying machines yes, but now everyone flies."

"Do you think we could fly in Westeros someday?"

The envoy from America seemed to pause to give it a moment's thought.

"I don't see why not. If we are able to establish peaceful relations, I imagine a great deal of profitable trade could take place."

"You mean we could trade for flying machines? Purchase them off you?"

"Yes."

"What could we trade for? "

"Well we would need to establish an acceptable medium for trade. Resources…precious minerals, agricultural land, things of that nature. I am sure we could find useful commodities to barter."

"Precious minerals? We have gold, and silver. Great amounts of it. In Dorne and the Reach we make fine wines…actually, what am I saying? I brought some here. Perhaps you would like a sample?"

Upon a quick command a servant brought forth a small wooden barrel. Inside there was a deep red liquid. Renly produced goblets, clinking his glass with the young knight from Highgarden. The visitors had their own bottles and other receptacles. Samples were passed around.

"This could be acceptable…" the American ambassador said, after a moment's contemplation. "Every nation has its resources to trade, I am sure Westeros will as well."

Renly asked how many realms there were in their world.

"About two hundred" was the general answer.

"And which would you say is the most powerful?"

"Well you might get different answers to that, but I think most would agree the United States of America is still number one."

"Ah, and how do you know that?"

"Well…" Arthur Culvahouse said. "As you're already aware my lord, we have the best flying machines."

"Indeed."

"And you could say he who rules the sky rules the world."

Renly nodded as this. It was the crone's own wisdom. "So America is more powerful than Australia, would you say?"

The Australian and American representatives exchanged glances.

"Well I suppose so" Dutton admitted. "America is a much more populous land, though both are rich and powerful."

"We are Allies" Mr. Culvahouse explained. "We greatly appreciate Australia's military commitments. Whenever we have fought a war, ever since World War Two, Australia has been there more often then anyone else."

"So you send troops to fight in America's wars?" Renly asked.

"Well yes, it is called the ANZUS Treaty. A pact of mutual defence between America and Australia."

"Ah!" said Renly, suddenly smiling. He pointed at the American delegates. "Now I understand why you are here. Australia are vassals to America. There are your lord paramount."

"Well…" Dutton started, as if trying to find a way to steer the conversation away from that conclusion.

"Do they also require taxes or tribute?"

"No, the ANZUS treaty is only military in nature."

"Ah, now I do understand. Australia, you are marcher lords, of America!" Renly leaned in close to the American ambassador. "To become vassals of the flying men, how many troops would you require?" he asked with complete seriousness.


	6. Chapter 6

It was just after noon the next day, when the delegation from Earth approached King's Landing.

Lord Renly detached some riders in the morning to gallop ahead and herald their arrival. The rest of the column held formation – house guards at the front, goldcloaks mostly at the rear, with the visitors in the middle. To be honest, the drivers were a little bored of the plodding pace. They could have driven down from the portal in under an hour, even given the state of the winding dirt track known as the Rosby Road. Their leaders urged them patience. It would be a little rude to shame their hosts at the slow speed of their transport. Enough time to work on that later.

The city was visible some miles off. The walls were impressive, slabs of mortared stone close to a hundred feet high, with large drum towers spaced every few hundred yards. They had already looked at the aerial photos taken a few days earlier. The city rested on the north bank of a large river known as the Blackwater Rush. The city snaked along its shore for a good six kilometers and spread north for another four or five. 90% of the dwellings were within the walls, but entire neighborhoods had sprung up beyond them, particularly along the riverbank.

Inside was a dense urban area, but little of the interior was visible from this perspective. The Red Keep, the King's castle, stood proudly on its hill over the river mouth to their left. Beyond they saw the spires of what was apparently a sort of cathedral. On the right was another great building, looking a bit like the Roman Colosseum and in a similar state of disrepair.

A mile from the walls another procession of riders came out to greet them. Still sharing the Land Rover with Peter Dutton, Renly (with some assistance operating the electric windows) held out an arm to call a halt.

This procession looked similar to the first one, a hundred or so mounted men, though with a greater array of banners. He saw the same horned deer, but also a golden lion on red and a white wolf on grey. At the front rode a trio of men cloaked all in white, looking rather splendid. Lord Renly smiled and introduced them as they reared up.

"To my honored guests, I have the honor to introduce Sers Barristan Selmy, Jaime Lannister and Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard. They are King Robert's personal sworn swords."

He turned to the mounted men. "I have the honor to introduce Lord Peter Dutton of the Commonwealth of Australia, and his delegation, seeking an audience with King Robert".

"A pleasure, my lord" said the oldest of the men dressed in white.

"The pleasure is all mine, Ser" replied the Australian Minister, wondering if he should step forward to shake his hand. He decided against, it would look rather awkward with the other man atop a horse. "Is King Robert able to see us today."

"He is awaiting your arrival, my lord."

There were further introductions before Lord Renly announced that the procession should continue. They were now a column some four-hundred strong, half mounted with the others seated in maybe thirty vehicles. Other traffic on the road parted well before them. People gawked as the vehicles drove past at a walking pace, their engines purring. One could only wonder at their reaction if they'd seen them on a proper freeway. The commandos looked on impassively, scanning for threats but seeing little to alarm them. In a land of swords, the man with the assault rifle was king.

They began to traverse the 'Iron Gate' that gave entry on this side of the city. More of the goldcloaks lined the interior, forming a sort of honor guard, though they also seemed to serve as crowd control. The crowds thickened the moment they passed through the walls, staring in astonishment. There had been some discussion on the matter and Lord Renly had informed his guests that the main avenues, at least, were amply wide enough for their 'horseless carriages'.

Still, they seemed to follow a fairly wind about route. It could hardly have been a kilometer from the gate to the Red Keep, but they must have traversed three times that distance. The people they passed did not exactly look…prosperous. A quarter might have gone without shoes. Skinny children ran about everywhere. The Australian Minister was just shy of fifty, but he was not sure he saw more than half a dozen people older than him. When he looked closely the impression was no better. In five minutes he saw a man missing a leg, others smiled toothlessly at the intruders or sat in doorways numbly with unseeing eyes. Lord Renly was narrating the view as they passed by. Dutton asked and was told there were maybe half a million people in the city.

Right then. First things first. Order half a million toothbrushes and pairs of shoes.

And then there was the smell…it had hit them while still outside the city gates and grew worse as they descended into the city centre. There were shallow trenches along many of the roads. They were simple open-air sewers, for the locals to dump their leavings whenever they pleased. The minister wrinkled his nose and coughed, trying to hide the motion from Lord Renly to his left. The moment they had seen the first village from the air, they had suspected this, but it was still a confrontation. Was this really how our ancestors lived? Was this London five hundred years ago?

The crowds did not thin until they were approaching the gates of the Red Keep itself. In front was a cobbled square, where more lines of goldcloaks were holding back crowds. After some further consultation with Lord Renly, the vehicles turned and began to park under the crimson walls of the castle. After a few minutes the task was complete. Engines were switched off. The commandos remained in their vehicles however, or stood on top, surveying the locals warily.

"So as agreed, our warriors shall remain here, while our delegation meets with the king himself?"

"Yes, they can wait here. We take guest right seriously in Westeros. You have assurances from me on behalf of the king, no harm will come to you within the walls of the Red Keep."

They exited the Land Rover and proceeded across the muddy ground. Already their tracks had torn up the loose soil something awful. The Minister lamented his now sodden dress shoes. He had thought boots a poor choice when meeting a king, but now was starting to reconsider.

Ser Loras followed Renly like a shadow, while the Kingsguard stayed close by, dismounting from their horses. They walked across the square and under a rather lethal-looking portcullis. Beyond was a spacious courtyard where more lines of men stood waiting, parted in the middle to allow them access to a large hall in the far corner. Dutton followed Renly up the stone steps. His assistant was to his side, holding a large Australian flag on a pole. Close behind was the American ambassador, with his own aide doing the same with the stars and stripes. When in Rome…

"Lord Renly of Storm's End" a herald cried when the young lord entered. "Ser Loras Tyrell of Highgarden."

Behind the young lord, Dutton led the joint Australian-American delegation through the tall doors and got his first good look at the throne room.

It was a decently large space. A thousand people could have crowded inside – and close to that number were now doing so. A row of thick pillars held up the ceiling on either side. Around their bases stood hundred of people. There was a marked difference to the townsfolk outside. Here they wore more colorful outfits, perhaps of silk or cotton, as opposed to the dull, roughspun wool found outside. More lines of goldcloaks stood silently in front of the murmuring crowds. Almost no one was seated.

The exceptions were at the far end of the room. At the end of the pillars there was a long table. There were seven seats, though only four of them were occupied. The Small Council Lord Renly had explained. One of the seats was his own as Master of Laws. Ser Barristan, as head of the Kingsguard, held another.

In attendance there was an old man with a long grey beard wearing heavy robes and with a complex-looking chain about his neck. That had to have been the 'Grand Maester' Pycelle. Next to him was a bald, plump man who was apparently the spymaster Varys. On the other side was a small man with a goatee who was the 'master of coin'. In the middle of the table sat another man, with a rather hard, dour look to him. On his chest he wore a small golden badge of what looked like a closed first grasping a hoop. That must have been Ned Stark then, the newly appointed hand of the king. Only absent was the king's other brother, Lord Stannis, the 'master of ships, who had departed some time ago for an island called 'Dragonstone'.

Behind the council table there was a row of men dressed in white, standing still as statues – the rest of the kingsguard. Barristan Selmy and the others marched ahead to join them, forming another group of seven. The Westerosi were rather fond of that number, Dutton reflected.

Behind them, currently vacant, was the throne.

Dutton had to admit it made quite an impression. Renly had described it as a thousand swords melted down by dragonfire, the slain enemies of Aegon the Conqueror. The story sounded more like myth then fact. He was keen to inspect these 'dragonskulls' Renly had told him of in the Red Keep's dungeons. Perhaps they belonged to an elephant? Or a whale that had washed up onshore? Nonetheless, the throne was a huge structure, a small mountain of half-melted steel. It must have been the most uncomfortable chair on either of their worlds.

Dutton also noticed two others seated on their own bench beside the throne. There was an elaborately dressed woman, blonde and markedly attractive even at this distance. That must have been the queen. Beside her sat a boy, also blonde and handsome, who might have been about twelve. The crown prince then.

Silence fell as the delegation entered. The room was crowded, barely ten feet separated the guests from the lines of goldcloaks. It felt hot inside, some degrees warmer than the already humid day outside. They visitors would soon be sweating under their suits as well. Dutton made a mental note as he strode down the hall. Toothbrushes, shoes and then air conditioning…

Approaching the council table, Renly gave a bow.

"My lords" he announced, his voice filling the whole hall. "I have the honor to present Lord Peter Dutton, a member of the Small Council of the Commonwealth of Australia and a representative of her grace Queen Elisabeth, the second of her name." He turned to address Dutton.

"I believe the king will be with us in moments."

Dutton nodded, aware that every eye in the hall was on him. He wasn't sure whose eyes to meet. He scanned the room quickly. There were high windows on both sides of the hall, beneath which hung large tapestries, depicting scenes of what looked like a hunt. The only comparison he could think of was the Bayeux tapestry, depicting William the Conqueror's invasion of England almost a millennium ago.

Only that wasn't a tapestry…it was an embroidery…he had heard that somewhere.

Only moments passed before another herald's voice rang out.

"All hail His Grace, Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."

To the left of the throne the king himself now emerged. He was a large man, in height as well as girth. He wore black garments tinged with gold. There was a heavy gold crown on top of his head and a thick black beard on the bottom. He looked remarkably like Lord Renly, though with twenty extra years and at least that many extra kilograms. Regardless, he did look very much like a king, even before ascending the steps to the Iron Throne.

Seated, he looked back over the scene. His face was not exactly friendly, though not quite angry either. There is suspicion there Dutton thought. He does not know what to make of us. Understandable, though Dutton found himself wondering just how secure in his position the king was.

He had run through this moment in his head repeatedly over the last few days. His discussions with Lord Renly had proven most informative, though there was still a great deal about which he did not know. More than nervousness or caution, a big part of him still felt bewildered. A week ago, he'd been an ordinary government minister, idly wondering if he might prevail in a second leadership spill someday. Now he had passed through an interdimensional portal to another world and was about to try and explain to a slightly burlier Henry the eighth why his people were not a threat.

Silence fell and every eye was on him again.

"Your grace" he started, giving a deep bow. Others behind him did the same. "I thank you for receiving us. It is an honor to meet the king of Westeros."

He left a little pause. No one filled it. The king continued to glare down at him. He decided to continue.

"I believe I have had productive discussions with Lord Renly in the last few days. They have been most informative. I have been learning a great deal about your land, and I have told Lord Renly a great deal about ours. No doubt you must be wondering how this meeting of our two worlds came about?"

There was another pause, though Dutton saw the king give an almost imperceptible nod.

"The problem your grace is that, for all my people have achieved, we do not know the answer either. There is…a doorway now, between our two worlds. We do not know where it came from or who made it, or how long it will last. We have many theories. Perhaps someday we will discover the truth, but for now the mystery remains, and while that doorway is open, it seems we will be neighbors."

Again a moment's silence. Dutton was about to continue when finally the king spoke.

"A doorway?" he asked, in a deep sort of growl. His eyes were narrowed in confusion. "What is this you speak of?"

Dutton hesitated, he glanced at Renly, who nodded.

"You grace, I have seen it for myself" the young lord began, looking up at his brother earnestly. "The riders down the Rosby road did not lie. There has appeared there…a great ring. It is the most curious apparition I have ever seen or heard of. It is taller than the Hightower of Oldtown and more mysterious than the wall. It is…not something I think could be made by man. Certainly not men from Westeros or Essos or indeed…" he gestured at their guests "…even by the flying men of Australia or America. I think…the only possibility that makes sense to me or others who have looked upon this apparition is that it is an act of the gods, a gift perhaps, bringing together two different peoples. It now serves as the gate between our two worlds, as surely as the Mud gates links King's Landing with the shore of the Blackwater rush. It is a gift, perhaps, from the Maiden herself, I do proclaim it to be…the Maidenring, your grace…and it is these men who have come from the other side to seek your favor."

The king listened to this in silence. His expression had at least changed. Rather than suspicion, there was just confusion writ upon it. The silence stretched uneasily. Another voice broke it.

"Are you telling us Lord Renly, that the flying machines we have seen and this…Maidenring, their origins are different? That the one was made by men…these men…and the other was an act of the gods?"

It was the Hand of the King who had spoken. Lord Stark had interjected into the silence, perhaps before the king's confusion became too obvious.

The King cannot look weak. Was the message Dutton received, loud and clear. He cannot appear confused or indecisive. That was what his advisors are for.

"That is what we have discussed and it appears to be the truth, my Lord Hand" Renly replied. "I have heard no lies from our guests…that I am aware of at least."

"You believe that simply because these men say so" replied lord Stark, indicating the foreign delegation. He looked directly at Dutton. "How do we know you did not create it, and now claim ignorance? How do we know your intentions here are honorable?"

Dutton nodded. "I understand the dilemma, my lord. My people have a saying. When you meet someone new – trust but verify."

"Beg pardon, my lord?"

"I mean, when you meet someone. It is best to assume good intent, but also to work to confirm it, especially before your relationship with them has deepened, before you have come to rely on them in some crucial way. I understand the dilemma. We face the same one. When we first noticed this…doorway…this ring, we had no idea what was on the other side either. But now we have met. There are some differences between our two peoples, I am sure, but also some remarkable similarities. We feel we must now build a working relationship, prove to each other our good intent and deal with each other fairly. Is that not why we are here, as diplomats?"

Lord Stark frowned, as if thinking. At that moment the king piped up.

"Why have I not heard of this place? This realm, it is called…"

"Australia, your grace" Renly answered quickly. "Though there are many realms on their world. It appears to be entirely different to our own."

"A different world…?" the king said slowly.

Dutton realized the king was scarcely following the situation. He turned to an aide. "The globe" he said quietly.

"Yes, your grace" Renly continued. "They do not come from Westeros, or Essos, or even Sothoryos. It is an entirely different world."

"A different world with a different sun, your grace" Dutton added.

The king was frowning now. There was muttering from the gathered nobles throughout the hall.

"But how do you know this?" It was Lord Stark again.

"It is my understanding that you have not yet explored your whole world" Dutton went on. "You know of large parts of it, but the rest remains unknown. No one has ever sailed around it. No one's ever done a complete circuit. Is that not correct?"

"Aye, it is correct."

"Well that is not the case on mine. My people explored every corner of our world centuries ago."

"A man sailed around your world?" Wheezed an old voice, that of the grand maester.

"Yes my lord, his name was Magellan."

"Magellan? He must have been quite a man. Why, even the Sea Snake himself never achieved such a feat..."

Dutton did not ask after the reference. Behind him, an aide had retrieved an object out of a box and now stood by his side.

"My point, your grace, my lords. We have long since explored the surface of our world. There is no Westeros on it. If you explore all of yours, I do not believe you will find an Australia on it. They are entirely separate or were until this…ring was created. I would like to present you with a gift in fact, what I hope will be the first of many, that may clarify things."

The aide passed him the globe. It was a modest size, the sort you might find on a geography teacher's desk, about a foot across marked with blue oceans and motley brown and green continents. Dutton took a step forward and held it out. After a moment's hesitation a servant stepped out from beside the throne and took it, with a deep bow. He placed it on the table with the councilors, who leaned in to inspect it closely. The hall was quiet for a few moments, aside from the mutterings of lords and ladies in the galleries.

"It would seem that we are blessed, my lords" said a new, softer voice. It belonged to the plump, bald spymaster, who had looked up from the globe and was now smiling at the delegation pleasantly. "The Gods have blessed the reign of King Robert with this unprecedented meeting."

"Indeed" said the short man next to lord Stark – the master of coin. What was his name? Bay-lish? "Many peoples have come to Westeros in time. The Children of the Forest, the first men, the Andals, the Roynar…"

He was positively beaming at them.

"…and now the flying men of Australia."


	7. Chapter 7

They joined the royal family for lunch the next day.

The Godswood was pleasant enough, about an acre of garden overlooking the Blackwater Rush. Their apartments may have been lacking modern amenities but they were well-decorated and comfortable. The thirty diplomats had been given rooms along the same corridor, in a wing of the castle apparently reserved for guests. The commandos, with some reluctance, had departed the city and were now camped a short way beyond the Iron Gate. Dutton hoped it was the right move. It was a solid sign of trust, but he hoped they hadn't just given the Westerosi thirty hostages in case things went south.

The party was now seated along a number of tables. At the head table sat the king, along with his queen, the crown prince, Lord Renly and Lord Stark. Further down were the rest of the Small Council members. Ser Barristan and the other Kingsguard stood nearby. Dutton sat opposite with his assistant. Further along were seated Alexander Downer (the former foreign minister) and the American ambassador Arthur Culvahouse with an aide of his own, along with several other senior government officials.

They had sat down to a lunch of bread, meat and cheese. There was not a fruit or vegetable in sight, though there was more of the Dornish wine. The globe now sat on the table where Lord Varys had placed it, along with a small pile of pens, toy cars and other vehicles, watches, a pair of binoculars, firelighters and some books. The Westerosi were sifting through them with interest. The crown prince – Joffrey, held up a toy plane in fascination.

Nearby was laid out a map of Westeros, decoratively illustrated on parchment, one of the gifts given by the king in return. The visitors had been inspecting it closely. After a cautious start, the conversation had picked up.

"As I said to Lord Renly before your grace, I think there could be very good opportunities for trade between Westeros and Australia."

The king nodded, sipping a large goblet of wine. "And what goods does Australia have that Westeros lacks?"

"I can think of a great many" Dutton replied. "You have already seen our flying machines."

"Aye, my son won't shut about them. At first he thought it was a dragon. Wanted to go out and slay it, ha!" the king laughed, slapping a hand on the table and looking down at the crown prince. There was laughter around. The boy's face went bright red. Next to him, his mother looked aghast, but said nothing.

"An understandable mistake" Dutton said evenly. "But it is no beast, it is merely a machine. Like a carriage, or a galley."

"Do you have many flying machines?" the king asked.

"Oh yes…thousands. They are common in our world, like ships or…horses."

"Aye, and you are willing to sell such a thing?"

"I don't see why not. It would dramatically improve travel times in your seven kingdoms." He turned to Lord Stark, on the other side of Lord Renly. "I am told my lord, your lands are far north of here?"

"Aye, I am warden of the North."

"And Winterfell is your seat?" Dutton glanced back at the map.

"Aye."

"How long does it take you to get from Winterfell to King's Landing?"

"We made the journey not a moon past. It took us more than two months, though you could do it quicker. Perhaps by ship."

"Looking at this map, it looks to be a good two thousand kilometers from King's Landing. Or about four hundred leagues. Is that right?" Dutton looked at Lord Renly. They had discussed this conversion already.

"Aye. How fast would it be by flying machine?"

Dutton considered it.

"Two, maybe three hours."

There was silence from the lords opposite. After a moment the king burst out laughing. Others seemed compelled to join in.

"It is no jape your grace" Lord Renly interjected, though he was smiling. "You have seen them for yourself. They are supremely fast."

"Truly? Two hours to Winterfell? Another hour to the Wall, perhaps?" the King roared, slapping the table again.

"With our flying machines, your grace, you could have breakfast in Winterfell, lunch in King's Landing and dinner at Oldtown. It is no joke" Dutton promised. He glanced at his wrist as he spoke and did a quick calculation. It was barely ten minutes to local noon. He smiled. They would allay the king's skepticism soon. He glanced at Lord Renly, who nodded.

"Would your son like to see the aircraft again your grace?" Dutton asked, glancing at the blonde-haired boy. Joffrey's face lit up. "I can have it return here, momentarily."

The king seemed to chuckle. "The thing caused quite a stir last time. The smallfolk all ran to the Great Sept of Baelor. Thought it was the end of days, that the Stranger had taken wing and was coming for them."

"Your grace, I talked to the High Septon this morning" Renly interjected. "I assured him that it was no dragon, and not the Stranger. It was merely a flying machine, flown by our new friends come to have a look at King's Landing. That there should be no panic when it returns. Indeed, perhaps the bells shall ring for it…"

"Bells? What in the seven are you talking about?" the king demanded of his little brother.

Renly shrugged. "Only that the High Septon seemed amenable to the idea. To herald its return, to welcome our new friends to the city. Wait your grace, you will see."

It was only a few minutes later that the P-8A Poseidon came back into view. Dutton was waiting, he saw the speck out over the Blackwater and smiled again. "Ah, my prince. I believe your friend has returned" he announced, gesturing. People started to wheel around. In moments the whole Godswood was looking to the north-east. Lords and ladies rose from chairs to get a closer look at the apparition.

They could hear the low drone in the distance as the plane closely matched its path from a few days earlier, aiming for the mouth of the Blackwater. Moments before it passed, Dutton heard the sound he was waiting for.

Bong. Bong. Bong.

The minister counted. There were four more distinct strikes, echoing across from Visenya's Hill, before the bells at the Great Sept fell silent. He sat back, satisfied. Seven strikes to welcome the new visitors. Lets see what that does.

Around him he saw no panic now. The king's entourage were looking up at the plane in astonishment. Most probably hadn't gotten a good look the first time. The big white twinjet roared overhead and up the river. The kangaroos painted on its sides were quite visible. The crown prince was looking at it in awe, his own toy forgotten.

"Does it rain fire?" Joffrey shouted. "Can it eat your enemies whole? Could I feed them to it? Mother, look!"

Dutton's smile flickered, but the king himself was laughing as it passed overhead. He turned to Renly and slapped him on the shoulder.

"What are you doing, inviting dragons to fly over my city! I should have your head for that!"

"It seems the High Septon approves after all" Renly decreed, looking satisfied.

The plane returned a few minutes later. They stuck with the theme. It made a total of seven flybys, crisscrossing the city from every angle, before returning up the coast. He heard the bells toll again after it had departed. One…two…three…yep, it came to seven. The holiest flyby in history.

"So your grace, we were discussing trade."

"Yes, I see. Haha. You've sold me, but how much to buy your flying machine?"

Dutton conferred with his aide. They had looked at some options already and printed out a price list. He turned back to the Westerosi.

"Well we would need to find an acceptable medium for trade you grace."

"A medium? Does that mean gold?" the king asked.

"Well yes your grace, gold or other precious metals would be acceptable. We would need to work out-"

"How much gold?"

Dutton consulted his notes. He grabbed out a piece of paper and placed it before the king. On it was a picture of a small plane.

"This is a Cessna 172. American-built. The most common plane in our world. Its small, seats four people. Current price is about $300,000 US dollars. In gold, that's about twelve pounds."

"Done!" the king roared. There was laughter from his lords. Peter Dutton compelled himself to smile. Well this king doesn't like haggling.

"He said the most common plane, my love, not the best" the Queen said quietly "does the king fly like a commoner?"

"The king will fly however he pleases" King Robert announced, holding a goblet aloft. "To the flying men. They want gold!" More laughter from the lords.

Dutton glanced at Renly. He looked apologetic. "Obviously there will be much to discuss" the lord said. "There are many different types of flying machines, I am sure. We must choose the very finest for the king." He turned to the master of coin. "Lord Baelish, twelve pounds of gold. How many dragons might that be?"

The master of coin stroked his goatee. "Well by weight, about twenty gold would make a pound, it would be two hundred and fifty or so, I believe."

"That does not seem…excessive" Renly said cautiously. "I thought you might ask for a whole city of gold, Lord Dutton."

"So if I'm not mistaken my lords" began Lord Stark. "For the cost of the tourney we have planned, we could purchase some four hundred flying machines? More than every galley in the Royal Fleet?"

"Well I stress that is for a small plane, lord Stark. That only seats four people, including the pilot, so really just three. Here is another one."

Dutton put another picture on the table. This time of a Cessna Gran Caravan, which could reportedly seat fifteen and would be a hundred pounds of gold 'brand new'. He then jumped to the De Hallivand Dash 8, which could seat 'from forty up to ninety, depending on the model' but would be 'five hundred to fourteen hundred pounds'. There were larger planes, he explained, but they would probably prove impractical in the short term. There were also other costs to consider – pilots, fuel, infrastructure, maintenance…

"Enough counting coppers!" the king declared after a while. "Damn you Renly, as you seem so keen, I leave this task to you. Get me my flying machine!"

With that the king rose, causing everyone else to do the same. He left with half the kingsguard shortly after. The conversation resumed. As the afternoon wore on Renly came back alongside the Australian Minister.

"Mr. Dutton, I recall a promise I made to you a few days previously. You wished to see the dragon skulls?"

Dutton blinked. The young lord still sounded completely serious on the matter.

"Yes I did. When would be a good time?"

"Why, we can go now. I can show you down."

Dutton nodded. He spread the word to the other diplomats. About a dozen announced they would join him. Renly gathered together some of his Baratheon guards and together the small tour group departed the Godswood. They passed through several courtyards, doorways and corridors, Renly deftly navigating the maze that was the Red Keep. They went down several flights of stairs until arriving in a corridor where several torches had been lit to provide light. Renly picked one off the wall, as did several of his guards. Dutton and the other guests pulled small devices from their pockets however, from which shone a bright, almost unnatural illumination. Renly turned back, startled.

"I must say, those devices of yours are most useful" he commented. Dutton had shown Renly a smartphone on the drive down from the portal and tried to explain its uses. He was not sure the young lord had quite grasped its utility. He had been more interested in the automobiles and flying machines so far.

Guided by flame and electric torchlight, the party descended deeper into the dungeons beneath the Red Keep. As much of the castle must lay below as aboveground, Dutton realized as they continued. Only a few minutes had passed though before they rounded a corner and Lord Renly came to a halt. For a moment Dutton wasn't sure why, until he made out an odd silhouette ten feet away from the young lord.

Jesus.

The skull was massive, the size of an elephant and as pitch black as its surroundings. Only an odd glittering reflection in the torchlight gave it away. Empty eye sockets stared at them, large enough for a man to crawl through. You could almost have parked a car in its mouth. Great teeth stuck out, as long as cricket bats but sharp as kitchen knives. Dutton stood there stunned.

So the dragons were real.

He turned to Lord Renly, who was smiling his little bemused smile. He heard other exclamations from the party behind him. Torchlight revealed at least a dozen other skulls in the chamber, several almost as big as the first. His mind took a few moments to process it all. One thing was for certain. These were no whale skulls…

Then what else here might be real?

"Meet Balerion, the black dread" Renly proclaimed happily to his enraptured audience. "Be thankful he never met you!"


	8. Chapter 8

It was raining when they began the trip back from King's Landing.

It had been a heck of a week, though Dutton was starting to miss electricity, refrigerated food and his family, possibly in that order.

Renly joined him in the Land Rover once more as the convoy proceeded back to the portal. They said goodbye to the remaining diplomatic staff left at the manse the Australians had picked out as a suitable site for an embassy. It was less than a kilometer from the Iron Gate and the Americans were setting up just down the street. The building looked comfortable enough, with featherbeds, real glass windows and even running water. With some refurbishing it could serve.

They passed a convoy of trucks heading the other way, making another humanitarian run. The first delivery had arrived two days earlier. They had run the numbers and figured they could fit 200,000 toothbrushes on a truck or about as many tubes of toothpaste. They had ordered a million of each and started distributing them in the city's main squares under the supervision of the City Watch. That had been followed by bars of soap, band aids, diapers, toilet paper, shoes, socks, T-shirts, shorts, hats and other garments, first aid kits, plastic bags and containers, boxes of matches and lighters and a hundred other goods. They were currently calculating how many bicycles could fit in the back of a semi-trailer.

Someone, somewhere, was no doubt tallying up the bill that would eventually be handed to the Westerosi in return for all this, but it was scarce worth worrying about now. Discussions had already started at the UN to provide Westeros with its own slice of the $150 billion global aid budget, and once the continent was fully surveyed and had the right infrastructure in place to start exporting raw materials, all this would be a drop in the bucket. So far, Dutton felt rather satisfied.

There had been some oddities of course. The commando platoon left to guard the embassy had taken to handing out bars of chocolate to local street kids who pestered them enough. This had started something of a stampede and compelled them to start loading some in the trucks instead. A black market had quickly sprung up, and reportedly Cadbury Dairy Milk was now selling for more than a gold dragon a kilogram. Elsewhere, gatherings of cobblers and local seamstresses had been spotted, worried about an imminent drop in business. They had to send reassurances they only intended to bolster the local market in order to help the very poor, not send all the local manufacturers out of business. It was a delicate balancing act, the first of many, Dutton knew.

Renly had a larger party with him this time. Aside from Ser Loras, a dozen other lords and ladies accompanied him along with their servants and retainers. Two hundred guards went with them, matching the Australians on their visit. They took the same leisurely two days to return to the portal, passing more convoys headed the other way. Renly asked at length about purchasing ground vehicles.

"Cars are quite cheap actually. If you buy them second hand, it'll only be a few gold dragons each. Give it a few months, we could have hundreds in King's Landing. Fuel is an issue though…"

"Fuel?"

"Yeah, we need to talk about that. Oil – your people haven't really discovered it yet."

"But we have oil."

"Do you?"

"It is used in lamps."

"Ah, but it does not come out of the ground does it?"

"It comes from sesame seeds, castor beans, some animals, fish…traders from Ibben also come bringing whale oil."

"Ah I see, well those are all natural sources. I'm talking about fossil fuels."

Renly looked at him.

"Fossil fuels?"

That took some explaining.

"So you take people who have died, burn their bodies, and that powers your machines?"

"Ah, well not people. We're talking animals, plants, insects even…built up over millions of years."

"But this almost smacks of…well necromancy. Raising the dead to come again and do your bidding." the young lord laughed, but he glanced again at Dutton.

"I understand my lord why you may get that impression, but I don't think that's quite correct. It is no different to mining. Your have told us, you mine for copper and iron, as well as gold, silver, tin…Taking a lump of iron, forging it into a sword. It is no different then digging up some coal or oil and burning it in a machine."

"But was the iron ever living?"

"Wood was living, you burn it in your fires all the time."

Renly frowned. "I suppose you're right."

"Anyway, my point is that you will have to import it from us for the time being, which may be expensive. But if the geology of your world is anything like ours, there will be vast deposits of it below ground. You've already found a bit of coal here and there, but the real prizes are oil and natural gas. If there's significant reserves in and around Westeros, they'll be worth trillions, or billionsof gold dragons They'll truly kickstart your economy, so long as you get a significant share of the pie of course. I can see already that will be the real issue, as it is everywhere else."

"So this oil…it is most valuable?"

"Oh yes. My people have a nickname for it – black gold. It is probably the single most valuable commodity on our world, in terms of resources at least. The market for it is twenty times larger than gold. Tell me, who are the richest family in Westeros?"

"The Lannisters, it is widely considered."

"So I have heard, because they have gold mines?"

"Yes."

"Well they won't be the richest for long. Whoever discovers the largest reserves of oil and are able to tap them, will hold that title in a few years."

"Because it powers your machines?"

"Yes. It powers everything. Fossil fuels also power electricity, to help all sorts of machines function…"

"E-lec-tri-ci-ty?"

"Yes, ah…this concept might be a bit hard to explain. You are from the Stormlands, so that means you regularly have big storms with rain, lightning and thunder, yes? Well lightning…that is electricity, in its natural form…"

That took some more time to explain, as Dutton detailed the various forms of electric power generation.

"Wind, you say?" Renly exclaimed after a while. "Well there will be no shortage of that in the stormlands for sure, and it is never winter in Dorne…The Reach has great rivers, as does the Crownlands and…well the Riverlands obviously. I am not sure of the North…what sort of lightning farms could they make?"

"I am not sure. A large enough land, there is bound to be coal and other sources buried somewhere. Don't worry though. In time, we can electrify all of it. Every city and holdfast and farm in the seven kingdoms" Dutton reassured him. "Then your people can live like us, free from a lifetime of backbreaking labor and drudgery."

"Well I am most curious to see how your people live. I am most keen to visit the city of the flying lightning men."

"Patience, my young lord. You won't have to wait long."

######

After a final night's camping the convoy arrived back at the Maidenring. The conversation with the Australian minister flowed smoothly enough, but Renly was trying to hide his nervousness. Everything we had seen and heard of in the last week…a magical ring taller than the wall, a gateway to another world, a world filled with flying men and great machines, metal carriages that may or may not have been powered by the souls of the unknowing dead, vast farms where lighting was harvested from the skies and captured and twisted to do the bidding of mortal men…He had proceeded day to day, encountering each mystery in turn and trying his best to smile and jape and make sense of it.

But now, he truly was going to enter the realm of the flying men.

What would he find there? He thought of the different exotic lands in his own world, the wild lands beyond the wall where giants were still said to roam, the smoking ruins of Valyria that no man had laid eyes on and successfully returned to tell the tale in centuries, the dark alleys of Asshai a whole ocean away, where only the boldest traders attempted to sail and mages and monsters were still said to hold sway.

He sensed this journey was just beginning, that he had only skimmed the first few pages of some fantastic book. The dignitaries from the other world had proved friendly enough so far, but where was this all heading?

Now he stood once more before the Maidenring, watching the flying machines carrying great loads between one world and another. Gods, their machines were noisy. He was glad for Lord Dutton's warning. With the King's permission, the flying men had started to demolish the trees in front of the ring. Already they had cleared a rough path halfway down the slope. He couldn't see them, but even their axes seemed noisy. They were cutting down the trees with remarkable speed.

The party dismounted from their vehicles. Renly was greeted by Ser Jacelyn Bywater, the grim-looking, one-handed city watch commander he had left with twenty men to keep eyes on the Maidenring. Their modest camp had sprawled in the intervening week. Hundreds of people from the surrounding lands, highborn and smallfolk alike, had flocked to view the apparition for themselves. Some were camped by the road still, watching the flying machines and the green men as they brought in more metal carriages. Some had gathered at a bend in the road where a barefoot septon appeared to be leading a sermon. Candles had been lit, but they kept going out in the gusts generated around the Ring and the devout appeared to have given up the effort. Children ran alongside the vehicles, shouting for bread and chocolate.

Renly and the other Westerosi had soon switched to horses to ride up the slope. Lord Dutton declined, preferring to walk, as did nearly all the other Australians. Avoiding the logging parties the group eventually coalesced at the top.

The weather on the other side looked better today, a clear blue sky, though Renly noticed the temperature drop by a few degrees as they approached. It was autumn in Australia, Lord Dutton explained. Renly was glad now he had packed the extra woolen cloak. He also noticed the curious placement of the sun. It was just past noon in Westeros, but already looked to be mid-afternoon in Australia.

"The two worlds are a bit out of sync. Your rotation period is 12 minutes longer than ours" Dutton explained. "We had to re-program the watches we gave you."

Renly smiled and nodded again. Yet another oddity to get used to. Looking through the ring, he noticed masses of men and vehicles, more than last time. The line of figures in black garments was back, accompanied by more green men. Others were present, of less uniform dress. They were carrying odd objects of metal and glass, looking like oversized Myrish lenses. They were in the distance across the field, but Renly sensed their attention on him. He asked Dutton who they were.

"That's uh…the media."

"Media? I don't think I know this term."

"They report the news, send it to people."

"Ah, so they are your heralds and town criers?"

"Um…yes" Dutton replied after a moment's pause.

"Should I go talk to them?"

"I would recommend against it at this point. They will ask you many questions, I don't think we're ready to answer them all just yet. Shall we proceed?" Dutton asked, gesturing at the portal. The line between the two worlds was ten feet away now.

Making a great effort to hide his nervousness, Renly nodded. He had never been a religious sort, but he did send a quick prayer to the mother as he stepped over the line. It was uneventful however. Aside from a slight breeze on his face, he felt nothing strange as he passed. The Maidenring seemed no more substantial than air.

They started walking across the field. Where there had been knee-high grass was now a flattened mess of mud and carriage tracks. The Westerosi marched in procession, the Baratheon guards and city watchmen on the flanks, the delegation of lords and ladies in the center. Renly and Dutton led the way. When they reached the line of figures wearing the important black garments, Dutton made a greeting and started introducing them one by one. Among others Renly was introduced to a 'Tim Pallas' the 'Treasurer of Victoria' ("the master of coin" whispered Dutton), a 'Graham Ashton' the 'Chief Commissioner of Victoria Police' ("the head of the city watch") and, most curiously, a red-haired woman named 'Marise Payne' who held the position of 'Minister for Foreign Affairs' ("our chief diplomat, she negotiates with other governments").

"A woman? How extraordinary!" Renly exclaimed, perhaps a little too loud. "But is that not your job?" he asked as they headed to a long line of waiting vehicles nearby.

"Well my portfolio is Minister of Home Affairs."

"So what does that entail? I am not sure I understood."

"Well my responsibility is national security, border enforcement, immigration…I protect Australia's borders from outside threats, but below the level of the military. ASIO are our intelligence agency and they answer to me."

"Intelligence agency?"

"Yes. You know…we keep an eye out for threats, for anyone disloyal or plotting violence in our borders."

"Oh I see."

"Yes, well when the portal opened, we didn't know what lay beyond or who to send. We figured it should be a minister and in the end I volunteered. A portal to another dimension seemed…closest to my portfolio, and I was in the police before once. Also, we weren't sure if…" he gestured at the red-haired woman. "…you'd take a woman seriously as foreign minister."

Renly nodded, thinking on these words as they boarded a waiting carriage. This one was larger than the Land Rover, colored black and with enough seating inside for a dozen people. Ser Loras took the seat beside him, along with several other lords and guards. Renly kept the smile on his face as others boarded. It took some time for the convoy to fill up. It had taken some convincing the that it would be better if the Westerosi brought no horses or carts of their own. The Australians would provide the vehicles. The city watchmen carried spears upwards of eight feet long however. Still wearing their armor, it took several awkward minutes for them to all fit inside.

Eventually the vehicle's engine purred to life and they slowly drove out of the field. Renly found himself doing some quick self-reflection. The realization had hit him suddenly, and he was not sure how he had missed it before. He had been thinking ahead, to meeting Australia's rulers and their small council - the cabinet. He had been wondering who the Australians had as a spymaster and had been wary of meeting the man. Looking at Dutton again, he realized that question had already been answered.


	9. Chapter 9

He had asked how many days it would take to get to Melbourne. Dutton had given his usual polite smile. "Just an hour or so."

"But isn't it a dozen leagues away?"

"Yeah we're taking the freeway - that's a very big road and the carriages will go very fast."

Gods be good. He wasn't kidding.

The convoy had to be at least fifty vehicles long. At the front were a line of smaller carriages. They had rather pretty flashing red and blue lights on their tops and emitted a piercing siren as they moved. It made Renly's heart stop the first few times he heard it. Apparently, they belonged to the City Watch. Victoria Police - he had to remember the name. King's Landing had the goldcloaks, here they had the red and blue lights.

Behind came the line of larger black vehicles. Once again, he could only assume that color showed importance. It seemed a touch odd. Since when was black a color of distinction? How many lords and knights coated their arms in black? He could not think of many. The night's watch came to mind, but they hardly counted. He dismissed the thought. A different land, different customs…

At first the landscape changed little. They travelled down a road of packed earth past gently rolling fields of green and brown. Few were planted with what were recognizably crops, but he saw plenty of sheep and cattle. Trees and fences by the roadside passed with dizzying speed. Soon they had turned a corner. The sound of the wheels changed as they passed onto a new road of a sort of fused black stone. Renly had never seen the dragon roads of Essos, but it as the only comparison he could make. I thought they didn't have dragons? In moments they had to have been galloping faster than any horse Renly had ever ridden. Gods. Was there anything in the world so fast? A Dothraki Khalasar did not move this quickly.

They made several more turns, passing through intersections guarded by more flashing Police vehicles. They passed some buildings, what looked like more farms, but no towns or villages that Renly could see. They crossed a bridge over a creek, gone almost before he could notice it. Eventually they took another sharp turn, passed through a sort of circle and then were accelerating even further onto a much bigger road. It was so wide as to be almost comical. Thirty horses could have lined up shoulder to shoulder. It stretched ahead to the horizon, a thick black ribbon with only the occasional bend.

There were more structures by the roadside now, only they passed by so quickly Renly barely had time to register them. One exception was a row of great steel towers, easily a hundred feet tall and spaced evenly apart by the freeway. Thick ropes appeared to bound them together. Renly could not fathom their purpose. For hanging clothes or fabrics? Why would they need to be so high? He asked Dutton.

"They're power lines. I talked to you of electricity? Of lightning? They are like…lightning pipes, I suppose you could say." The Minister chuckled, but Renly was enraptured.

"I do not see any lightning yet."

"Well you wouldn't see water inside a pipe would you?"

"I suppose not."

"Don't try and cut into them though to get a look. It doesn't work like that."

"Oh you have my word. We are not here to steal your lightning" Renly promised sincerely.

"In fact, I should be careful to mention" Dutton went on. "It might be best to stay away from power lines, ok? Don't touch them. A little lightning is good but too much is quite bad for you."

Renly thought this over. "You mean lightning can leak from the pipes?"

"Ah…only if you touch it, it may. You wouldn't know, because you're not from here but we teach children when they're young, do not touch power lines or you can get uh…electrocuted. It means, in a way, struck by lightning."

Renly nodded at this. "Then you have my word. I will be sure to caution others against touching the lightning pipes."

There were yet more structures either side of them now. Long grey buildings, some ornamented with writing. 'MAERSK', 'BHD', 'HOYER'. The words were unfamiliar…house names? The convoy appeared to have this side of the road to themselves, while other vehicles flashed past to the left, so fast they were like arrows freshly loosed from a bow. Large signs were held aloft on long metal polls, giving what appeared to be directions. The background was green, the writing white. 'WESTERN RING ROAD LEFT LANE'. It meant little to him.

"Are we close to the city now?" Renly asked.

Dutton appeared to blink in surprise.

"Well we're already on the outskirts my lord, Melbourne is very big."

"All this exists outside the walls?"

The Australian delegates exchanged glances.

"Oh…Melbourne does not have walls, my lord."

"It does not have walls?" Now Renly was surprised. "Why not?"

"Why would it need them?" Dutton was smiling again. There was some stifled laughter from the other Australians. "I think I understand the confusion…cities in our world once did have walls, but what good are they now? An aircraft can fly over any wall, no matter how high. They can fly over mountains. So walls don't serve much purpose do they?"

Renly considered this. "So what if the city was attacked? You would mount a defense without walls?"

"I think the idea is that our army, or the navy or air force, would spot any potential attackers thousands of kilometers away. That is…hundreds of leagues. The fighting would take place a long way from here. Melbourne has never been attacked, not in the two hundred years since the city was founded."

Renly blinked in surprise. "All this was built in two hundred years? Why, that's younger than King's Landing."

They soon rounded another corner and crested a low hill. Dutton pointed ahead of them. "Ah, there's the city."

Renly looked, and stared. For a moment he didn't understand what he was seeing. On the horizon was a new collection of shapes, a broad cluster of grey-blue fingers. They stood tall, like squat blue tree trunks, but appeared so distant they were shaded blue like a mountain range.

"Are those…towers?" Renly asked slowly. The other Westerosi were craning for a look.

"Yes, we call them skyscrapers."

"Sky-scrapers?"

"Yes, buildings at least five hundred feet tall."

"How many are there?"

"In Melbourne? About fifty I think."

Fifty? Renly continued to stare. The skyscrapers came in and out of view as the freeway curved and dipped. Again he thought of the seven kingdoms. He had been to Oldtown before. The Hightower was meant to be eight hundred feet tall. The Wall was said to be almost as high. What else was there? Harrenhal? He wasn't sure if the greatest of its half-melted towers reached five hundred feet. He could think of no other structures in Westeros that could compare to Melbourne's towers.

Things seemed to be passing in a blur now. He saw more rows of squat structures of white and grey and blue. Some had red bricks that might have been chipped out of the walls of the Red Keep. There were more lightning pipes than he could count. The skyscrapers loomed ever larger up ahead, like a strangely geometric mountain range. To their right, he noticed another structure, snaking up ahead like some immense sleeping serpent.

"The West Gate Bridge" Dutton advised. "Should be a good view from the top."

In minutes they were ascending the great structure. It seemed less like a bridge and more a smoothly arching hill of concrete and fused stone. There were odd triangular-spar structures near its centre, like the rigging of a great ship, stripped of its sails. Renly was distracted from that though by the view beyond. The sun was low in the western sky now. As they neared the peak of the bridge, the city below them receded. They had to have been hundreds of feet up. Renly looked around and his jaw could only drop.

The city stretched on forever.

Rows of white warehouses, steel lightning towers, smaller structures that might have been houses, grey apartment blocks, multi-colored marketplaces, neatly manicured gardens, spires of what could have been septs or temples, chimneys, storage tanks, cranes, parking lots, piles of shipping containers hundreds of feet high…Renly didn't understand half of what he was seeing, but all of it stretched off towards the horizon. Some neighborhoods were clustered amid trees that made it hard to tell where the city ended and its gardens began. Directly beneath them now flowed a great river. Beyond it the skyscrapers were like a solid cliff of steel and glass. On the right the river widened into ocean. Ships larger than Renly would have ever thought possible, of grey and white and red, ploughed its approaches or were docked beside similarly oversized piers.

Renly had been told the city hosted five million people. He had done his best to picture such a vast townscape and realized now his efforts had been sorely lacking. Even then, this figure did not seem large enough. Surely every man, woman and child in Westeros would not fill this city? Renly felt breathless, as if he had forgotten how to suck air into his lungs. He reached out a hand to steady himself. Someone grasped it, and he turned to see Ser Loras looking at him in some alarm.

"Are you alright my lord?"

With some effort, Renly nodded. He was not the only one. Whether it was their immense speed, their dizzying height or the sheer mind-numbing queerness of the landscape beyond, others seemed a bit overcome as well. A few seats down, one noble lady was saying quiet prayers to the seven. The Australians were watching closely. Some offered encouraging words or a bottle of water.

The vertigo eventually passed. They had crossed the bridge and were now down its other side. Dutton was watching him closely.

"Here, have a drink my lord" the Australian Minister said, offering his own bottle. Renly took a swig. "If only it were wine" he commented without thinking.

"We will have plenty tonight. You still feel up to a banquet?"

Renly nodded, still trying to control his breathing. He looked back out the windows. They were passing by some of the towers now, so close you could almost reach out and touch them. Sooner than he expected they'd made another sharp turn and taken a lane off the 'freeway'. A few minutes more and the convoy finally slowed. Renly quickly lost his bearings in this steel and concrete forest.

They finally came to a stop in front of another tower, a monstrosity of green and grey. More men dressed in black came to open the door. Dutton escorted him out. Renly kept his footing but some others in his retinue struggled. One lady had fainted during the crossing and had to be carried out. Some others tripped over the unexpected curb at the roadside. Ser Loras was a surprise. He mumbled a quick excuse and suddenly was bent over retching. Renly saw at least three of the Gold Cloaks doing the same.

"Careful my lord, do you feel dizzy?" Dutton asked, sounding reproachful. "To be honest, that went better than I expected. No one seems to have panicked and started threatening anyone with a spear. You might be feeling a little motion sickness. I did mention…can happen if you haven't been in a car before."

Renly barely heard him. He was looking up at the tower.

"Is this a palace?" he asked. "Does a king live here?"

"Uh…it's a hotel. Why do you ask?"

Renly pointed at the top of the tower, where a single word was spelled out in enormous gold letters – CROWN.


	10. Chapter 10

Mitch Fifield had been a member of the Australian Senate for 15 years. He had worked his way up through the bureaucracy, in the military, as a junior public servant, then a state delegate, a senator, assistant minister and then in two different ministerial portfolios. He had been thinking of announcing his retirement from professional politics and taking a nice, comfortable position as an ambassador to some distant country, one where the hours of his working week could remain in the single digits.

Instead, he had passed through an interdimensional portal and now found himself Ambassador to the Iron Throne of Westeros. Suddenly his workweek was threating to enter the triple digits. Despite this he was not unhappy.

He had settled into the new embassy. They had no electricity of course, but they had brought along gas lanterns and stoves and an increasing number of home comforts. Most days he would take a car down to the Red Keep, the foot and horsebound traffic parting before them. There he had become part diplomat, part advisor and part tutor to King Robert's Small Council.

The projector was set up in its usual spot in the Small Council chamber, today's PowerPoint picking up where yesterday's had left off.

"Fifteen million?" Lord Stark repeated, as if struggling to comprehend such a large number. "You have fifteen million electors in Australia?"

"Yes. Every adult citizen, man or woman, over the age of 18" Fifield replied.

"And they all vote?"

"Every three years, and yes. They must fill out a ballot at least. They can refuse to fill it out properly, but it is their duty to at least turn up to vote or else receive a small fine."

"And this all happens in one day?"

"Yes, in polling stations right across the country. In fact it will happen soon. The current parliament expires on August 29th, that's just over four months away, so the Prime Minister is set to call a new election any day now. He would have already I think, but with the uh…Maidenring, opening up, thought it best to delay."

"This process happens every three years?" Lord Baelish asked, seated beside the Lord Hand. Varys, Pycelle and Ser Barristan were also present, along with a handful of other lords and senior courtiers in King Robert's entourage. The king himself was absent however, as were his two brothers. Lord Renly was still on his visit to Australia, while Lord Stannis remained absent on Dragonstone.

"Yes, ever since Federation, a hundred and eighteen years ago."

"A rather rapid changing of rulers, is it not? I can only imagine the chaos if we changed king every three years."

"Well we have had thirty Prime Ministers in that time, it is true. So only…four years on average? Some serve much longer though. One lasted eleven years, another sixteen, and typically they will serve in parliament for a decade or two before getting anywhere near the leadership."

"So how does a Prime Minister's reign end?"

"A leadership spill, or an election, or they simply resign if they've served long enough."

"And they will simply give up their power? Go peacefully?"

"Yes. That's how the system works. There has never…I mean, I can't be sure what the future holds, but we have never had violence of that nature. No PM has ever been assassinated. A few have died in office…"

"How did they die?" Lord Baelish pressed.

"Hearts attacks, old age, the usual reasons…one drowned at sea."

"He drowned?"

"Yes, Harold Holt. Went for a swim at the beach in 1967 and was never seen again."

"And you're sure this was an accident…?"

"Could the Prime Minister lose his throne at this election then?" interjected Lord Stark before Fifield could answer.

"His seat…yes. The polling is pretty even at the moment. If he loses Mr. Scott Morrison would be replaced by Mr. Bill Shorten, the leader of the opposition."

"What difference in rule would there be between the two?"

"A fair question, you remember when I talked of political parties?"

"Aye."

"So what did I say, my lords?"

Lord Stark hesitated. "Alliances between the lords? They all swear fealty to the same leader."

"More or less, yes. There are a number of different political parties. I myself am from the Liberal Party, with Scott Morrison as its head. Mr. Bill Shorten is head of the Labor Party."

"Aye, so what is the different between these two alliances?"

Fifield mulled over the query. "A fair question…how do I translate this into terms you would be familiar with? I suppose the Liberal Party, first and foremost, represents the interests of business owners. So…merchants? Yes, we are the party of merchants. The Labor party represent workers, who sell their labor for a living. So they are the party of workers." Fifield wrote this up on the whiteboard on its stand nearby.

"Are these the only two alliances?"

"The two largest parties yes, but there are a number of lesser factions" Fifield explained, jumping ahead to another slide which showed the current parliamentary makeup. "The Nationals…the party of farmers I suppose? We always caucus with them, merchants and farmers together. Then there are the Greens…how do I describe them? They are an…uh…environmentalist party. They seek to preserve the natural environment. Does that make sense?"

"I am not sure I follow you" admitted Ser Barristan.

"Well, forests, woods, grassland, lakes and rivers, coral reefs…the Greens want to protect it. They might object if you wanted to chop down a forest for instance."

Lord Stark looked up with sudden interest. "Chopping down forests? Like Weirwood trees?"

"Weirwood?" Fifield replied. "A type of tree?"

"Ah, Lord Fifield. Perhaps we should explain" Lord Varys began. "Our Lord Hand is from the North, where the Old Gods still tend to hold sway. Every great castle and town there has a Godswood, a small grove of trees with a Weirwood at the centre. The Northerners believe the trees…hold an old power. Everything of import is done in front of a Weirwood tree, so that the Gods may bare witness."

Fifield nodded, absorbing this information politely. "Well I'm not sure if they're more attached to any particular tree, but they would probably object to cutting them down, yes, particularly if they're endangered in some way."

"These Greens, they are…regular men?" Lord Stark asked.

Fifield was quite lost now. Lord Varys came to his rescue.

"I believe Lord Stark is asking if there may be a connection between the ones you call 'Greens' and the Child of the Forest, said to live in Westeros in the Dawn of Days…"

It took some time for the Westerosi Lords to explain the whole thing to him. "Not that I'm aware of…" he cautioned in the end. He wrote 'Greens = Tree worshippers?' on the whiteboard and left it at that.

He was going to continue, but at that moment there were loud footsteps outside the chamber. The door opened and suddenly King Robert was striding into the room, shouting for his councilors. Fifield had not known the monarch long, but he had never seen him looking so angry. A Kingsguard knight came up to the Australian ambassador and politely requested he vacate the room. The king needed to convene with his Small Council. Fifield nodded. His assistants helped him gather up his gear and he gave a deep bow to the king before leaving.

Twenty minutes later, the Australian Ambassador was back at the embassy manse. He walked straight upstairs to the room occupied by a small squad of ASIO agents, their headphones on. They were listening with great interest to the King's rant back in the Small Council chambers. Pens, watches, lanterns, a stapler, a model train…if the room were any more bugged they'd have had to call in an exterminator. Fifield started on the transcript of what he'd missed.

'The whore is pregnant!'

"Interesting…" the ambassador murmured as he read.

######

It was early the next morning that Fifield was awoken by one of his aides.

"Sir, I think we have a problem."

"Yes?" the ambassador asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Lord Stark was attacked in the city last night, they just brought him to the Red Keep."

"Attacked? By whom?"

"It seems it was Jaime Lannister with some of his guards. We didn't see the fight live but we spotted several bodies lying in the streets."

Fifield didn't ask the source of the intelligence. Bug, drone or even a human witness. Outside was grey predawn light. Rain was drumming on the windows of the manse. He would not be due at the Red Keep for some hours.

"Why would the Lannisters and Starks be fighting?"

"We don't know yet sir."

Fifield got up. He had a quick breakfast, buttered toast cooked over a woodfire. Dawn was breaking when another ASIO agent gave him an updated report.

"The Royal couple are arguing. The Queen claims Lord Stark's wife has seized her brother."

"Jaime?" Fifield asked. "Is he still in the city?"

"No sir, her other brother. Tyrion, the one they say is a dwarf. Stark's wife seized him at an inn in the Riverlands and announced she was taking him back to Winterfell. Must have been over a week ago, before the Hand's tourney."

"Do we know why?"

"No sir."

Fifield considered all this. He would have to send a report to Canberra momentarily.

"Is Stark alive?"

"Apparently, they've brought him to the Grand Maester's chambers, Pycelle. We're listening now." Fifield didn't ask how exactly. Probably via the microscope they'd given the old man, he knew. Right around the time they were explaining what a germ was.

"He would have a better chance with our people of course. We could offer…" he started. Though then they might have to explain how they knew so quickly. Fifield frowned. The Lord Hand had seemed an honorable man, one who'd resigned over his objections to the assassination of the Targaryen girl. Starks vs Lannisters…would it be better to support one side over the other? Should they avoid any involvement whatsoever? The realm suddenly seemed a lot less stable than it had yesterday.

He decided to wait. He was due to address the Small Council again in a few hours, or someone might come for them sooner. Then he could offer medical aid, to fly the injured lord to Melbourne. In an hour or two he could be at the Alfred Hospital with better surgeons than any in this world.

Or if he died?

Well, then King Robert would have to find a new Hand.

And the seven kingdoms might very well plunge into war.


End file.
